


Sights On Heaven

by notavodkashot, temporalDecay



Series: Sights On Heaven [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universes, Earn your fucking happy ending, Eridan is a moron, F/F, F/M, Loads and Loads of Characters - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Other, Relationships are hard when the fate of the universe is at stake, Space-Time Fuckery, Tangled Timelines, The Roadtrip From Hell, tying up loose ends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 85,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2781482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot/pseuds/notavodkashot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporalDecay/pseuds/temporalDecay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the world - <em>every</em> world - is Ending, and all that's left is a Promise, a Bargain and a Grudge.</p><p>Or, a bunch of assholes run around trying to keep the world (and every other world) from going <em>BOOM</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 0 - The Fool [Prologue]

**Author's Note:**

> Act 3 of the Witches' Saga, direct sequel to A Distrait Life of Mistakes.
> 
> Please enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Death is not the opposite of life, but the opposite of choice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **Notes from Fi:**_ Oh dear god, guys. This is it. _This is it._ Let's hope you enjoy reading it half as much as we enjoyed writing it. 0w0 This chapter is also dedicated to the gorgeous Ashkatom, for being awesome and patient and putting up with my rambling far more than any sane human being should. 
> 
> _**Notes from Rie:**_ The Squirrel made me do it. For serious, though. I am excited! And also very pleased at the inclusion of a certain cranky ancestors, if only for this chapter. Feedback is as always, very much appreciated. (But seriously, the Squirrel made me do it.)

  


* * *

  


_Death is not the opposite of life, but the opposite of choice._

  


* * *

  


In the empty silence of the block, only the steady breathing of the troll echoed as he sank deep into an exhausted sleep. He slept a lot, now, for all he tried to avoid it. Sprawled on a collapsed support beam, his body was an awkward array of too-long limbs falling every which way as he snored quietly under his breath. Even when the silence was broken by a rush of feet clattering carelessly on the rusted floor, he did not wake, so tired and worn he was. It was always that way, every step of the journey he’d chosen, exhaustion and failure, but he still refused to give up. So he slept and gathered his strength, to try again. 

The owner of the noisy feet entered the rundown block and took only a moment to take in the scene before she hurried over to where the troll slept. She too was a troll, at least in shape, though infinitely younger if one were to be foolish enough to judge purely by her appearance. She made her way to where the other slept on, uncaring of the ruckus, and reached out small hands to hold onto a bony wrist. 

“Hey,” the girl, whose name was Sinann, said with the petulance only children are entitled to, “hey, wake up, I found something!” 

The older troll, whose name had, once upon a time, been Eridan, went on sleeping without a care. 

“I mean it,” Sinann whined, clutching hard on his wrist, until she felt the bones creak beneath his skin. “Come and tell me what it is!” 

She let go when he refused to react, because she loved him enough to not want him hurt. But she was still a child, in many ways, and children do not let go easily of their whims. So she scowled thunderously and glowered almost threateningly at him, arms tense and straight at her sides. And then she took a deep breath and in her eyes something Young and Old and Dead and Dying and Newborn gleamed with the memory of power stolen from another. 

And then Sinann tilted her head back and _screeched_ with a Voice not her own, the sound oozing like miasma and darkness all around her, making the walls and the ceiling and the floor tremble and fall apart. 

Eridan surfaced from dreamless sleep, flailing as he tried to attack unseen enemies, and only succeeded in slamming his head face first into a deformed wall. On the upside, that managed to wake him up properly and he took stock of his body – all limbs still attached, so he still had that going for him, which was nice – and the situation. He made to kick the girl, halfheartedly at best, growling in the back of his throat, but all she did was dodge and trail off into a giggle. 

“I found a thing!” Sinann said, uncaring of the glare she was being subjected to, grinning with all her teeth. “Tell me what it is!” 

“Ask Harlow,” Eridan snarled in annoyance, turning around to find a new comfortable spot and pulling his coat tight around him. 

Sinann shrieked again, as soon as he turned his back to her, the sound high and mighty and terrifying, and Eridan found himself falling off his perch onto the floor in an undignified heap of limbs. 

“Harlow’s bad at explaining things,” Sinann huffed with a shrug, once she knew she had Eridan’s attention. She stuck her hands into the pockets of her jacket – that it was originally Eridan’s jacket didn’t matter, nor did the fact it was several sizes too big for her and thus ended up looking more like a coat, trailing on the floor after her – and balanced on her heels. “And he’s probably drunk again.” 

“Fine,” Eridan muttered sullenly, rubbing a hand over his face as he realized he’d been defeated, “ _whatever_.” 

“Yay!” Sinann laughed, clapping, and then reached out to tug him along when it seemed he was taking too long for her tastes. “C’mon!” 

“Don’t I even get a meal first?” Eridan snorted in mock despair, as he let himself be dragged forward by her hold on his fingers. 

“Explain first, eat later,” Sinann declared with a grin, “if you eat you’re just going to go right back to sleep.” 

Eridan sighed. 

“You’re entirely too smart for your own fucking good,” he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, let’s see what you found.” 

He let his eye wander over the ruins of the building as he followed after her, without really seeing his surroundings. It was less depressing that way. He didn’t wonder who built the green manor or why parts of it were so thoroughly destroyed. It didn’t really concern him. All that mattered was that this was the wrong place so they would be leaving soon, as soon as he was recovered enough. He focused on Sinann, instead, watching her trot ahead with a carefree smile on her face. It was almost convincing, the way she seemed completely absconded from reality. Eridan often found himself studying bits and pieces of her that reminded him of other people, and other times. But he couldn’t dwell on it too much, or he’d never get anything done. 

The girl came to a stop in a doorway leading to a spacious block that showed signs of burning down, black charred marks coiling on the walls. At the center, however, there was a large wooden table that had somehow managed to avoid the flames. Eridan approached it with considerably more care than Sinann did, eyes squinting at the floor because the last thing he really needed was to fall through rotten, charred wood into the bowels of the manor. 

“So?” Sinann asked, clinging onto the edge of the table to peer at the dipped top, lined with green velvet, her feet swinging in the air. “What’s this?” 

Eridan reached out a hand to grab one of the colorful balls lying in disarray on the table, lips pursed in thought. 

“A snatch table,” he found himself explaining after a moment, slowly unclenching his fist before he cracked the ball open. Then, seeing the frown on Sinann’s face, he smiled warily as he put it back on the table. “Ball-in-the-snatch, it’s a game.” 

“Ooooh.” Sinann tilted her head to the side, trying to figure it out on her own, and then gave Eridan a hopeful look. “Can we play?” 

He took another look around the room, studying the ruins of a particularly massive clock and the echoes of an all-consuming fire, and found no trace left of a cuestick anywhere around. He sighed and raised a hand, gathering golden light in his palm as he pulled one into existence out of thin air. 

“Sure,” he said, because he still hadn’t figured out how to say no to Sinann, and ignored the throb of pain in the socket beneath the eye-patch. “Though I’m not sure you can play if you’re that small, kiddo.” 

She stuck out her tongue at him in annoyance. 

“Just tell me what to do!” 

  


* * *

  


“You _disgust_ me,” the Chancellor said, in a soft, venomous tone that was far more effective than any screaming he could have done, “I better not see your ugly mug ever again, you hear?” 

Driven to her knees by his vicious rant, the Head Admin stared up at him with tears in her eyes, shaking. She had done a good job. She knew she had done a good job. She had always tried so hard to do things right, to make sure everything was perfect. Her record was spotless. She knew, because that was precisely why she’d been appointed Head Admin of the _Leviathan_. And yet somehow, the Chancellor still found her lacking, and for all he’d torn down her work and her achievements, she still didn’t understand what she’d done wrong. 

“My Lord,” the tealblood began, back bowed and hands held in supplication, “please, if I could only—“ 

“That’s okay,” the Head Navigator said, reaching down to pat her head and making the girl look up at the old blueblood with something like desperate hope. “It’s not your fault, pet, no matter how good you or any of the others are, no one will ever measure up to the Chancellor’s standards.” 

“I didn’t know you had such a soft spot for failures, Exequy,” the Chancellor snapped acidly, trying to cover up his own growing embarrassment at the outburst. 

He was never meant to be unkind, and he hated that part of his nature, now that he knew first-hand what bitterness really was. 

“Well, she has to, Vantas,” the Captain Commander drawled, sneer firmly planted on her face, “ _someone_ has to pick up the slack since you’ve lost sight of what’s important.” 

The Head Admin – former Head Admin? – cowered a little as the Chancellor seemed to swell in size as he glared. The Captain Commander remained absolutely immutable at the display, sprawled on her chair with an air of nonchalance that belied a threat in itself. 

“Spare me the dramatics, boy,” she said, sneering for all she was worth, resting her chin on her left hand. “You don’t want to start playing cruelties with me, and you know it. Not only would you fail, spectacularly,” her sneer turned into a razor sharp smirk, “but we both know it’d make the Empress cry.” 

Vantas made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat and stormed out of the block without another word. Harper whistled low in a mocking tone, leaning her hip on the display in the center of the room. The former Head Admin cowered somewhat, not sure what to do next. 

“Well, _that_ was pretty low,” Harper said, looking over at her moirail with an arched eyebrow. 

“Low seems to be the standard these days,” Saanvi muttered, reaching out to grab her cup and scowling when she found her tea lukewarm. “Set course for the _Messiah_.” Harper’s expression fell, but she dared not argue. “And you,” Saanvi eyed the wreck the former Head Admin had become, “make sure to appoint a replacement before you switch ships.” There was something mean to Saanvi’s smile as she spoke. “One with a bit more of a bite, this time.” 

  


* * *

  


Eridan surveyed the wreckage of a troll sprawled on the roof, unamused expression hanging off his face. The man was old and half-naked, and he stank so much of alcohol that Eridan was half certain he could get drunk just on the smell. 

“You’re a disgrace,” he said, looming to the best of his ability at the blind-drunk limeblood slurring off-key verses of a song that had already been old when he learned it, several million lifetimes ago. 

“That’s rich,” the Old Man said, tilting back his gourd and dumping most of the liquid down his chin, rather than his mouth, “coming from you, boy.” 

“Oh, _spare me_ ,” Eridan sneered, the black trenchcoat helping give some credence to his attempts to intimidate. “You keep telling me I’m the greatest motherfucking failure in the goddamn multiverse, but I still manage to get through my nights sober.” 

“Most of them,” Harlow taunted, spitting out alcohol as he laughed, mouth wide open and eyes viciously kind. “Anyway.” 

“Most of them _is_ more than none of them,” Eridan snorted, folding his arms over his chest and resisting the urge to gag. “You told Sinann to find me.” 

And then, almost at once, Harlow’s expression sobered. Eridan had spent long enough in his company – oh so long, now, so wretchedly, punishingly long, that he consciously refused to think about it, lest he went mad in a way that wasn’t as productive as his usual fare – to wonder if Harlow got drunk at all, or if he only played at it, from memory. The older troll was jaded and miserable in a stubborn, single-minded way, but Eridan remembered what he’d seen, at the beginning of his journey home. He’d seen the Darkness and the Madness, writhing into a familiar shape. Sure, Harlow looked troll-like enough, that if there had been any other trolls around, they might have been fooled. But Eridan knew the limeblood was a limeblood because it suited him. Eridan looked at Harlow and Sinann and his reflection in the mirror and knew the truth: this universe was barren, just like the million others they had already seen. In this universe, forces conspired from the very fabric of reality and twisted it into a mockery of itself. In this universe, Gl’bgolyb had sung all trolls to nothingness centuries before they got here, just like she had in all the other ones they’d visited. 

This was not the universe Eridan wanted, that he’d sworn he’d find. And so in this universe, there were no trolls to be fooled by Harlow’s shiteater grin, Sinann’s perfectly lopsided ponytail or Eridan’s impressive command of the resting bitch-face. 

But what the hell, there was always next time, and the time after that, when they invariably failed again. 

Eridan was cosmically and contractually obligated to not be pessimistic about their errand, despite heaping mountains of evidence against it, because he was supposed to – _sneer_ – hope for the best. It was a bitch of an arrangement, frankly, considering his temperament had always been geared towards melodramatic overreactions about how cruel and unfair the world was, in regards to him. Now he had concrete fucking proof that it was goddamn personal and the fate of reality as he knew it depended on him overcoming his nature. 

Clearly, someone had it in for reality as a whole, and they weren’t above a little black humor to make it known. 

“Yes,” said Harlow, vaguely annoyed at nothing in particular, like always, “the Blue—“ 

“Oh, will you fucking _stop_ calling them that?” 

“Regardless of your feelings on the matter,” Harlow went on, sniffing disdainfully, “the thrice damned reality melting, color coded units of measurement are almost here. So pack up your tantrum and get ready, we’re leaving.” 

Eridan sighed loud and terse. 

“ _Joy_.” 

“No,” Harlow replied, because he truly couldn’t let anything go, ever, “not in this world. But maybe the next, if you don’t fuck it up.” 

  


* * *

  


The ship whined as the fortress approached it and swallowed it whole. The whale twitched nervously and its feelings echoed in the creatures prowling in its bowels. In the bridge, the core crew of the _Anansi_ turned almost at once to the only authority they knew, the only shelter they trusted. 

“Captain—“ 

“I know,” said the troll sitting on the command pit that looked more like a throne than anything else, and not exactly by mistake. “Order everyone to lock themselves up in their quarters until further notice.” 

Then the woman pushed herself off her perch, ignoring the tendrils twitching after her as she did, as the _Anansi_ protested the broken connection. The troll licked her lips and set her jaw as she walked down the corridor to the portal that would take her outside. She didn’t need useless reminders about what she knew to be reality. She needed her wits about her. So she walked resolutely and refused to allow herself a measure of relief, when she noticed the looming shadow of her first mate crawling along her own. 

“That’s—“ 

“I know exactly what it is,” Shaula Serket – captain of the Anansi, sanctified Knight in the service of the Bard of Light and all around troll-shaped, galaxy-wide disaster – said with a snarl, not looking back. She never looked back, no matter what. “A contract,” she added, smiling thinly, “that’s all.” 

“It’s Time, though,” Camila Haides – first mate of the Anansi, subjugglator nun and hopeless babysitter of cerulean-blooded, troll-shaped, galaxy-sized disasters – growled under her breath, as they came to a stop at the edge of the crystal platform that’d take them outside. 

“It’s a Witch,” Shaula laughed, smile growing bolder, until it became a grin, “that’s all.” 

“Good for business?” Camila deadpanned, reaching out to grab Shaula’s shoulder just as they stepped on the crystal and vanished. 

“Always,” Shaula mouthed off a corner of her lips, as they landed on the floor of the fortress’ hangar. Then she threw herself on her knees and bowed her head until her nose touched the ground. “My Lord, how may we serve?” 

Behind her, with just a touch more reluctance, Camila did the same. Witches weren’t her gods, of course – _her_ gods were mirthful and righteous and terrible and not yet in this world – but they _were_ gods, and one had to just go through the motions, sometimes. 

Beyond their line of sight, something monstrous and ancient and all-powerful stirred, and they heard the echo of countless _tics_ and _tocs_ , as the Sage approached them, but not enough they could see him. No, they didn’t deserve to put their eyes on him. All they needed to know was that he was real and his might as powerful as ever. 

“ _Faithfully_ ,” he said, purring out the words with the throat of his chosen vessel, “and then maybe when you’ve outlived your usefulness I’ll grant you whatever Time is left to you, instead of taking it away.” 

It was said that Space creaked, under stress, but Time _wailed_. And wail it did; a deafening, blood-curdling note that echoed to the deepest corners of their beings. They were in presence of _the_ Witch, the Sage who watched over everything from his throne at the edge of Time. The Witch that outright punished the arrogance of those who dared to try and master his aspect, the tyrant all hymns praised as what he was not, for fear of him showing himself exactly as he was. 

“Somewhere at the edge of the galaxy,” the Sage said, once he was done putting the fear of him in them – the fear was already there, but in his experience, there was no such thing as too much fear of him, ever – almost benign, “there is a creature sealed away, from the beginning to herald the End. It has slept long enough. You will find it and you will release it. And if your efforts are keen, I shall grant you a boon beyond compare.” 

  


* * *

  


Reality writhed around itself, as the gash closed itself up, while the three interlopers plummeted to the ground, hundreds of feet below. Eridan tried to roll into the fall, to use his momentum to change direction and maybe not end up splattered against the ground. Sinann landed heavily, feet first, and the rocks shattered under her small legs, but she hardly seemed to notice. Harlow stumbled forward drunkenly, and didn’t seem to have noticed the fall at all. Eridan, though, Eridan careened through the air, bouncing painfully off the floor until he finally crashed into a big enough rock to stop. 

“Landings,” Harlow mused wryly, ambling over like a ship swaying in the surf, steps uneven and yet somehow very sure of themselves, “you really ought to work on those.” 

“Fuck you,” Eridan whimpered, refusing to move. “Fuck landings.” 

“Flagship,” Sinann said, before the argument could really get going, in a solemn, somber tone. “Again.” 

Harlow’s mocking quieted as Eridan stared at the remnants of the _Battleship Condescension_ , crash landed on the nearby cliff. It was red and monstrous and terrible, and it told them what they already instinctively knew: another barren wasteland to occupy themselves with, until they could try again. It went unsaid, of course, that they would try again. Because at that point, what else could they have done, being what and who they were? 

But it also meant that Eridan’s expression became a delicate mixture of despair and murderous rage, because he knew what, or rather who, he’d find deep in the bowels of the ship, body torn and mind consumed by the Vast Glub. He knew, rationally, that there was an infinite number of universes, where things didn’t go the way he wanted them to. He knew. He’d seen them. It didn’t make it any easier. 

“You don’t have to,” Sinann whispered, looking more and more like a child, as she watched Eridan peel himself up from the crater he’d left behind. “Not this time.” 

Eridan’s lone eye, the one not hidden behind an eye patch and surrounded by faint white scars, was grim and determined in a way that made Sinann shrink back, until she was hiding behind Harlow’s leg. 

“I do,” he said, hoarse, “I always do.” 

Harlow placed a hand on the girl’s head, shooshing softly as Eridan started the trek, scars wrinkled in a bitter snarl. He stumbled and tripped but he didn’t stop, and Harlow knew better than to try to stop him. He made soft noises in the back of his throat and eventually convinced Sinann to go exploring with him, along the dead coast. No matter what he did, though, the girl kept looking back, at the wreckage of the flagship, because she knew Eridan was inside, wallowing in madness and grief. He wouldn’t talk about it, though. Not while he held onto the half rotten limbs, cradling them with infinite care; not while he cut off the corpse. Not while he set up the pyre and arranged the old bones; not while he sat by the shore and watched them burn away into nothing. He never shared stories or accepted sympathy. He never said anything, and the silence hurt Sinann more than she cared to admit. She knew how this went, because they’d gone through the motions far too many times to count. And yet every time, Sinann swore Eridan lost another tiny bit of himself, and she feared they’d reach their destination and there wouldn’t be enough of Eridan left to do everything they knew they had to do. 

“We do magnificently stupid things for those we love,” Harlow said, holding her hand as they followed the edges of the shore, “almost as great as we do for those we hate.” 

“I would have liked to meet him,” she said, letting the water and foam wet her feet, back and forth, along each step. Even then, she dared not say the name, the one taboo among them. Nothing else was sacred, nothing else was spared scrutiny and mockery and taunts and teasing. But that one thing, Sinann knew to skirt away from and not even Harlow’s brazen taunts would stretch far enough to reach it. “If he made Eridan care so much.” 

“He was a fool,” Harlow explained, like he had, countless times before, “but the sort that’s kind and brave and stupid enough to be loved.” 

“And his was the first Fate I stole,” Sinann finished, with a mirthless smile, as in the distance the fire lit up and reached out to touch the sky. 

Harlow smiled. 

“Ah, darling mine, not even you can steal what’s freely given.” 

  


* * *

  


The _Deathfowl_ was a balm for wrecked nerves, Equius thought, as his tiny courier ship docked in the main hangar without a fuss. The trolls under his command – not truly his command, but _Theirs_ , borrowed to him out of kindness and a whim, he never allowed himself to forget – worked as efficiently as always, and soon enough he was walking down the tallest corridor above the water tank, bound straight for his Lord’s quarters. He did not look down, because doing so would give him vertigo and the horribly cowardly temptation to jump and feed his Lord’s lusus with live prey for a change. But he considered the distant possibility of looking down, nonetheless, and that in itself was progress, from when he had first arrived. 

“My Lord Imoogi,” Equius murmured, standing just outside the door, not daring to enter without an explicit invitation to do so, “I have returned.” 

Garfit Imoogi had the uncanny power of looking majestic, no matter what they were actually doing. In his most hysterical, drunken moments, Equius imagined his Lord would look just as fearsome while picking their nose, as they did right there and then, working behind the massive expanse of their desk. They were wearing feathers from the namesake of their ship, braided into their hair, and a ridiculous contraption of folds and textures in violet, blue and green that revealed itself to end in a billowing skirt, when they stood up and walked around the desk to meet Equius and tug him further into the block. 

“So I see, my dear, so I see!” Lord Imoogi said, voice soft and musical and kind, wrapping an arm around Equius’ own and tugging him along to a nice set of seats off the side of the block. They asked the same question they always asked, after Equius left to seek out Nepeta and visit Alternia: “Is the Inner Rim still not agreeing with you?” 

And Equius thought of the still screaming rage folded into his very gut, his shame and his sins anchoring it bone deep. 

“No, My Lord,” he replied, quiet, “it is not.” 

And Garfit Imoogi, who was kind beyond anything Equius deserved, who’d sheltered him when he should rightfully be dead, who taught and trained and showed him, how to truly be a Lord of old, nodded solemnly and had tea brought to them, hands folded neatly over their lap. 

“The Empress wants me back, My Lord,” Equius couldn’t help but adding, resisting the urge to hide his face behind his hair, because kind and gentle as they were, Lord Imoogi had promised to cut his hair if he did something so uncouth ever again. Equius knew Lord Imoogi never made idle threats, and he rather liked his hair. “She asked for my return to…” Equius smiled, thin and sharp, “ _my rightful place_.” 

“She doesn’t want you enough to order you, though,” Garfit replied with a tiny shrug of their shoulders that made their clothes _jingle_ somehow, and Equius entertained the entirely possible notion that His Lord had bells woven into the fabric, purely for the joy of making music with each step, “just barely enough to ask.” They sipped their tea and sighed, which made Equius’ ears twitch and his attention focus clearly on them, because that tone implied they were about to bestow upon him wisdom of the utmost importance. “When an Empress orders you, you must obey, my boy. Unquestioningly. Unflinchingly. Unselfishly. But when she merely asks, you must always decline. No matter how petty or how small the request might be, decline it all the same. Then you’ll become a weapon to be wielded in the time of need, rather than a jester to be summoned in the name of boredom.” Garfit’s smile was a monument of lofty indifference that Equius yearned to master for himself. “A Lord must have his dignity, even before the Empress herself, or he is not fit to be a Lord at all.” 

Equius bowed his head respectfully. 

“I understand, My Lord,” he said, holding onto the delicate china in his hands and focusing all his self-control on not shattering it. “I will endeavor not to forget it.” 

“I know you won’t,” Garfit smiled, almost teasing. “But do tell me, how fare things in the Inner Rim?” 

Equius offered a paper thin smile and began trying to put his jumbled thoughts to words. 

  


* * *

  


Eridan realized there was something wrong almost as soon as he touched the ground. There was a noticeable lack of taunting from Harlow, for starters. There was also the fact he felt the madness oozing into the air, grimdark and furious, roaring silently as if they were still in the Void. He turned and found Harlow standing a couple dozen feet away, staring at his twitching fingers with a crazed expression on his face. 

“What the—“ 

Darkness boiled along his skin, crackling ominously as his shape faltered, fractures stretching along his skin and threatening to show the truth beneath. Eridan had enough presence of mind to grab Sinann’s arm and keep her from getting any closer, pulling her back until she was cowering behind him. 

“Take us away,” Harlow said, voice distorted and twisted on itself, “take us away, take us away, _take us away!_ ” 

Eridan felt something stir inside him and his eye throbbed, as Harlow sprinted maniacally across the dunes, reaching out to grab him by the trenchcoat. He grinded his teeth and kept himself in check, shuddering at the touch. He forced himself to stay in place, as Harlow’s body shifted and twisted, unable to decide on a shape. 

“I can’t,” he said, trying to keep his wits about him, when it became clear no one else was going to volunteer for the job, “ _Harlow!_ ” 

“Take us away, take us away, take us away!” Harlow screeched, shaking him roughly, eyes filling up with an array of colors that made no sense. “I’m not… this is not… I’m not allowed back! Take us away, take us away, _take us away!_ ” 

“What’s—“ Eridan yelped as Harlow stilled abruptly, eyes trembling and entire being quivering at the brink of implosion. 

And then he realized there was an arrow lodged clean through the other, the tip glinting a sickly familiar shade of blue, like crystalized blood. It stopped a hairbreadth from his own chest. Harlow screeched one last time, as the darkness abruptly pulled back, rolling disorderly back under his skin. He made a quiet, almost relieved sound, and then collapsed at Eridan’s feet, still firmly skewered by the arrow. He wasn’t bleeding, although Eridan didn’t really expect him to, and his breathing was back to a steady rhythm, almost if he were asleep. 

Eridan snapped his head up to the source of that arrow, as Sinann hissed ferally, baring her teeth but not stepping outside his shadow. 

Eridan stared. 

“Come,” the tall figure atop a distant dune said, voice muted and low, and still somehow reaching them perfectly despite the distance. In his right hand, he carried a bow easily as long as Eridan was tall. “You must be tired, and it will be dawn soon.” 

Eridan took stock of the situation, refusing to panic still, at least not until Harlow was back on his feet and ready to take over the whole be the responsible party that keeps Sinann from destroying everything in a fit of pique thing. He swallowed hard, gills and throat aching as if suddenly realizing he was standing in the middle of the desert, and nodded sharply. The other didn’t seem to be all that bothered by their sudden appearance falling from the sky out of nowhere, and whatever he’d done, he hadn’t really harmed Harlow. Not _really_. 

And, of course, Eridan would recognize those horns anywhere. 

He told himself he wasn’t being sentimental or foolish, as he pulled Harlow up into his arms, arrow still in place, and set out to follow the stranger, Sinann following tensely behind him. He just knew better by now, than to ignore the patterns when they presented themselves. 

  


* * *

  


“There’s nothing for you in the Fringe,” Kanaya said, expression severe. “Not now, at any rate.” 

Terezi drank her tea and shrugged slightly as she took her time deciphering the layers of meaning in those words. It was one of her favorite things about Kanaya, how nothing she said was ever exactly what she meant, but without bordering on the pathological compulsion to lie that always drove Vriska to twist her own thoughts into incomprehensible knots of barbed wire. Centuries at Kanaya’s side had done nothing to tame Vriska’s worst qualities, but they had certainly taught Terezi to appreciate the finer points of terse conversations. 

“While I sincerely doubt Lord Imoogi will be _glad_ to see me,” Terezi replied, at length, “I still have friends I should offer my condolences to. It’s only polite.” 

“Yes,” Kanaya replied, deadpan, “because pirates are just so concerned with being polite.” 

“In their own way, yes,” Terezi arched an eyebrow, taking a deep breath to let the cacophony of scents settle in her mind’s eye into a sharper picture. “You’d be surprised how much manners matter, in the absence of law.” 

Kanaya thinned her lips in disapproval, folding her hands in her lap. She turned her eyes to the expanse of her garden, studying the scrupulously well-tended flower patches that bloomed quietly under artificial light. They were not meant to exist here, in the heart of a ship, so far away from Alternia. In a way, it was cruel to keep them that way, away from the late afternoon breeze, caged on a thin layer of soil sustained by a complex and rigorous chemical treatment to keep it fertile, beyond what was natural or reasonable to expect. Much like herself, she supposed. She had nowhere to call her own, except this corner of the ship, claimed by hardwork and the Empress’ guilt. She had nowhere she could confidently say she belonged to, nowhere to call home, the same way all the trolls around her did. She was forever the outsider, the abomination, cursed with life and death and all the ugly things in between, at no fault of her own. 

But it’d been centuries now, and the bitterness had been worn out of her, like a stone in a river, and all she had left was… well, she wasn’t quite sure what it was, only that it amounted to herself. 

“What can you do in the Fringe, that you can’t do here?” Kanaya asked, and meant: why do you insist on going where you don’t belong? Why do you reject the gift you’ve been given? 

Terezi shrugged, cavalier, and somewhere deep among those scraps of self, Kanaya remembered she hated her kismesis, truly and deeply, for all it was always muted and solemn and tame. Because Terezi refused to be anything other than herself, even when her self was solely lacking. And she served as contrast to Kanaya’s own meager sense of self, putting all those muted, private faults on display, carelessly demanding she acknowledged them, without even realizing she was doing so. Because she couldn’t stand beside her and not feel the urge to be better, somehow, even if she knew for certain she was all she’d ever be. 

“I made a promise,” Terezi said, and for a moment she looked almost sad, like another troll with feelings and desires and an existence beyond the all-consuming duty she’d consecrated herself to. Then she laughed, shrill and terrible, and grinned at Kanaya with all her teeth. “I remember you telling me once I was only as good as my word.” 

“That was not the core sentiment of that discussion,” Kanaya replied quietly, because in truth she couldn’t remember the incident, but it wouldn’t do to not at least go through the motions of proper kismesissitude etiquette, when Terezi was so kindly reminding her why she bothered with the pretenses in the first place. 

“But it’s the sentiment I got and kept and live on for,” Terezi’s grin widened into a nightmare of sharp, perfectly straight teeth. “Don’t be sad now, Ma’am Maryam, I’ll bring back a souvenir.” 

Kanaya drank her tea and kept her thoughts to herself. 

  


* * *

  


“So it _is_ ending, at long last.” 

Eridan tensed at the sound of that voice, not so much because the tone was eerily familiar, but because the sheer amount of disdain in it made his skin crawl. He looked up at the massive stairs their guide had led them to, and found a woman standing at the very top, clad in black and jade green. Her horns, too, were terribly familiar, but unlike the other, Eridan harbored no sense of ridiculous sentimentality about them. He cradled Harlow closer to him and made sure to step right between Sinann and the stranger’s eye line. 

He, for once, wasn’t in the mood to walk off an arrow to the gut, nor did he want to give the impression that he needed one. 

“You may rest here,” the jadeblood said, severe, “until you’re ready to leave.” 

Eridan considered asking a question – Who are you? Where are we? Why are you still alive? How did you know about us? What the blistering _fuck_ is going on? – but then reconsidered when his knees throbbed and his body remembered, all of a sudden, that it was exhausted. 

“Thank you,” he said, at last, not sure what else to offer. 

A funny look crossed the stranger’s face, but then she turned and headed back into the ruins, atop which a painfully familiar sign claimed ownership. Eridan sneaked another look at their guide, and swallowed hard. He could worry about this, after a nap. 

  


* * *

  


“That was very rude of you.” 

Vriska stopped mid-swig, a bottle just touching her lips. She smirked widely and finished the motion, taking a long gulp of wine, before putting the bottle down on the desk. Such an orderly, pristine desk, much like everything else that came in contact with its owner; it made her sick. She leaned back on the comfortable chair, arching both eyebrows as she studied the troll standing at the doorway. The wing-horn combo always made him seem far bigger than he really was, but of course, knowing him as she did, she wasn’t about to be cowed by a silhouette. 

“The words you’re looking for are _thank_ and _you_ , actually,” she sneered, one eyebrow firmly arched. “But I see how you might be confused about how that works.” 

Tavros let out a slow, controlled sigh and resisted the urge to fold his arms, because the posture was innately defensive and Vriska would jump at it without hesitation. Instead he walked further into his office, allowing himself the faintest scowl. 

“This was my sector to work on,” he said instead, “the negotiations were already underway.” 

Vriska rolled her eyes with a flourish. 

“Blah, blah, blah,” she mocked, playing with the bottle still in her hand, “you’re just sore because I solved it faster than you did. Well, I’m sorry, Nitram, I was passing by and couldn’t resist the urge to solve that disaster. I’m helpful like that.” 

“I’m not sore,” he said, refusing to back down, “I’m _annoyed_.” 

“Good!” Vriska laughed, taking another swing of the bottle. Tavros felt another twitch of annoyance at the realization he’d been saving that for a special occasion. But of course, Vriska wouldn’t care. “Maybe now you’ll let that guide you into becoming something other than a brownnosed loser.” 

“I have a kismesis already,” Tavros replied, proud of himself for how icy he could make his tone, “and so do you. If you’re done, Lady Serket, please, don’t let me take up more of your time.” 

Vriska scowled at the curt, poorly disguised dismissal. Pretty ballsy of him, to dismiss her like that, it almost made her want to stay. But if she did, he’d run crying to his matesprit, and Vriska knew better than to let herself anywhere near Makara’s claws. Still, she didn’t bother to hide her disgust as she carelessly shoved the bottle onto the desk – it toppled over and spilled the remaining contents all over the glossy surface, but that sure as hell wasn’t her problem – and stood up, stretching. 

“You’re right, of course.” She couldn’t help having the last word, and Tavros had long given up trying to stop her. “You’re hardly worth my time.” 

He moved aside, to let her through, although a deep, resentful part of him wanted to stay in place and force her to shove her way out. It was petty, though, and ultimately pointless. He’d long accepted the fact he was never going to get anywhere, playing by Vriska’s rules, because Vriska’s main rule was that she always won. He watched her go for a moment longer, resisting the urge to snarl, even a little, and then went to clean up the mess at his desk. Literally and metaphorically. 

It wouldn’t be a visit from Vriska, after all, if she didn’t leave a lasting reminder. 

  


* * *

  


“You never did tell me your name,” Eridan said, on the third night staying at the ruins, for lack of anything more worthwhile to say. 

The largest of his hosts thinned his lips, not meeting his eyes as he slowly carved another serving from the large antlerbeast roasting by the firepit. The woman sneered, with an ease that would have given Eridan nightmares, if he was still capable of having them. He wondered if he wasn’t meant to break the ominous silence all around them, and if so, if there would be consequences for it. 

“His hatchname is Rukbar Zahhak,” she said, a spiteful twist to her mouth. “He abandoned it in favor of Chiron Zahhak when he was four, after committing the first but not the last of his inexcusable crimes.” Zahhak remained impassive, focused on his task. Eridan wrapped an arm around Sinann and pulled her to sit by his side, resisting the urge to bare his teeth at the sound of so much hatred in that voice. The jadeblood seemed amused at his reaction, but went on regardless. “He was titled Darkleer, for his apparent distaste for slaughter, by none other than the Grand Highblood himself. Of course, if he’d disliked it so much, he wouldn’t have made a career of it as he did. And he hasn’t told you his name, because his life and his name are no longer his own. They’re mine, to pay for the unforgivable sin of killing my son. He paid for his betrayal to the Empire with his title and his pride, but until it is all over, his name and his life will remain mine to use as I see fit.” 

Understanding chilled Eridan to the bone. 

“You’re the Dolorosa,” he whispered, “you’re—“ 

“I am,” she replied, lips pursed in thought. “Or I should say I was. Now I’m little more than you are, child, a pawn in a game not of my making.” 

“You were expecting us,” Eridan summarized, relaxing a little. Because even if she terrified him and _he_ made his airsacks hurt, they were bound by the same chains of predestination as he was. Predestination was supposed to help them along their task. He swallowed hard. “Are you supposed to join us?” 

The Dolorosa’s expression told him exactly what she thought about the possibility of traveling with him. He flinched, fins folded back down meekly, without any conscious thought on the matter. 

“We were meant to stay here and wait, a failsafe of sorts,” Darkleer said softly, not looking at anyone in particular. “This is his world,” he added, motioning to the figure still sealed by the arrow. “The world he was hatched into, the world that knew him as a troll, rather than a god. The world he was exiled from, forbidden to ever return to. She didn’t know for certain you’d come here, but She knew if you did and we weren’t here, your quest would be at an end, before it could even properly begin.” 

And then Sinann spoke, clutching at Eridan’s arm, and staring at their hosts with a look in her eyes that made it perfectly clear that her size was in no way an indicator of her actual age. 

“If you don’t come with us, you will die,” she said, not a threat, but a matter-of-fact statement. “The Blue Leagues will devour this world, and you’ll be gone.” 

“Death is in itself a relief,” Dolorosa whispered, fierce, “when you’ve been denied it long enough.” 

Understanding dawned in Eridan’s mind, as her skin began to glow a sickly, terrifying white. 

“Death or Life is all the same to me,” Darkleer mused with a faint ghost of resignation, shrugging his impossibly wide shoulders with ease. “But it is not my decision to make.” 

“But you will _End_ ,” Sinann insisted, claws digging into Eridan’s arm as she scowled. “Nothing left behind to prove you were here at all. Dead is dead, and I can give it to you, if that’s what you want, but Ending is something quite different altogether.” 

“Sinann,” Eridan began, but fell silent when the Dolorosa laughed. 

“There’s nothing worth remembering here,” she said, bitterness fresh and cutting, “there hasn’t been in quite some time.” And then she rose, turning to leave. “You’ll forgive me, if I don’t see you off, I’m quite tired all of a sudden.” 

Darkleer watched her go, his expression a mixture of regret and doomed affection that threatened to make Eridan ill. More so because he had to wonder, if his own experiences reading emotion out of that stoic face were what made it so easy to understand. 

“Do not take the seal off, until you’re gone,” he said after a moment, pulling himself to his feet with a strange grace that seemed at odds with his size. “Or else his madness will spin out of control again.” 

One and a thousand lifetimes ago, Eridan would have taken his cue to grab Sinann and Harlow and hightail the fuck out of this nightmare world, without looking back. But Eridan was not naïve like that, anymore. He finished his dinner first, because there was no reason to waste perfectly good food; and took care packing up everything he needed. 

The end result was less a frantic escape, and more a leisure stroll across reality. 

No sense in rushing the inevitable, after all. 

  


* * *

  


The Subjugglator Faithful had many, many rites to honor the Mirthful Messiahs. Gamzee knew them all by heart, and had, in fact, added a few of his own devising to the canon of the church, just because he could. There were no secrets, to him, about the faith or its purpose, not when it came to the truth. He’d accepted to inherit his Ancestor’s bargain when he’d made his own, and he was, on the whole, rather at peace with what had come to pass because of it. He’d read all that needed to be read, killed all that needed killing and lied to all who needed lying. 

But it still felt strange, to perform rites that did not contain prayers to his Gods; although performing this rite was in itself part of the larger rite to pave the way for Them. 

He scribed the sigil on the floor carefully, one hand brushing blood onto the hard stone and the other covering it with powdered bone. It took a long, long time, and the work was tedious and lacking even the smallest bit of whimsy that he so loved in his religious duties. But he was patient and dedicated, knowing well the importance of getting the details right. After all, it was not the Messiahs he was calling onto him, then, but a Witch. And so flesh and bone, somber and pretentious, were required. 

He sat down, after he was done, because even now he would not consent to bow to another, and took a deep breath. When he released it, he infused it with that kernel of power buried somewhere under his ribs, aiming for his makeshift altar. His breath turned itself into bright, toxic smoke that ignited the sigil in bright, howling flames, the same righteous purple as his blood. And then the Witch was there, or at least a shade carrying some of its awareness, drawn out by the display. Gamzee had made sure to be as far into the Inner Rim as he could, before he started this, just so it’d be obvious the call came from beyond the defunct Void Belt, just to make it more enticing. 

The roaring of the flames drowned out his words, much to Sollux’s chagrin. Gamzee amused himself with the thought of so much frustration, as he sat by and waited for his answer. 

“Agreed,” said the Witch, its mouth widening into an impossibly large grin, because it was a Peddler in the end, and the bargain had been crafted scrupulously to please it. 

Gamzee didn’t scream when the fire and the bone and the blood coiled into a ball around the shade, or when it lashed out at him, burning through his clothes and his skin, into patterns weaved with the most sacrosanct Rage. He didn’t scream or complain, as the fire died out and he realized he was covered in blisters and scars he hadn’t owned until then. He wasn’t a devout of Rage, a servile worshiper of Witches, and so he wasn’t spared the pain. 

He liked it better that way. 

The Messiahs welcomed sacrifice and pain and misery, just as they relished in joy and laughter and triumph. Gamzee was not a devout of Rage, or any of its siblings. Gamzee followed the True Faith. 

Gamzee would endure. 

  


* * *

  


Sometimes, what came out of Sinann’s throat was not Sinann, and yet it was very much herself. Eridan liked watching her sing, because Her Song was subdued and meek, compared to the screeching fury he still remembered from the day he’d dared try to be something he wasn’t and he’d lost everything because of it. Each note swirled into faint light that reached out to the ears of those still struggling to decide whether to live or die, in the barren wasteland of their dying world. The Song was kind and soothing, ever so gently stealing away bits and pieces of reality as the pitiful creatures trapped in this world faded away to nothing. 

“She’s getting stronger,” he mused, sitting on the rubble of what might have been a building once, arms loosely wrapped around his knees. 

It was not a girl, who sang this world to sleep, limbs long and slender, and horns massive and regal by their own right. But it was still Sinann, no matter what form she chose, and Eridan didn’t fight the pulse of resigned affection as she continued her task with infinite kindness. He couldn’t quite remember when she’d taken it upon herself to quiet the worlds they visited, before oblivion claimed them, only that it seemed natural and gracious to do so. It was better this way, after all, to be taken with music and love, than to find the end of their suffering with more anguish and pain. It was unfair, Eridan thought, like everything else, that the result of such stubborn willingness to survive was unstoppable destruction. Just because their universe was not ripe enough, because it hadn’t followed along a script written by an unseen hand. 

“She’s always been strong,” Harlow corrected, a thin, long pipe clenched between his teeth. “She’s just figuring out how much.” 

The trails of light gathered all around her, as her Song reached its peak, and then condensed into colorful beads that glinted with a light of their own. Sinann took care to pluck each one from the air, pulling her shirt in front of her to gather them all as she trailed off into silence. The survivors were gone, no bodies left to mark their presence. Nothing to let anyone know they’d ever existed in the first place, although of course there was no one left to wonder about it. All around them was the poignant silence that followed after Sinann’s Song, an eerie sense of calm that belied the blue doom gathering across the sky. 

Harlow pulled the pipe away from his lips and blew out a ring of pale blueish smoke, before he offered the pipe to Eridan. 

“I’m ready,” Sinann said, clutching her treasure and slowly shifting as she walked up to them. 

Eridan took a lungful of smoke from the pipe and smiled at her, before returning it to Harlow. 

“Off we go, then,” he breathed out, standing up lazily but with a certain ease. 

He had his strength back, and his determination was as unmovable as ever. He was just like Sinann, just like Harlow, he mused, as he gathered that strength and that determination and felt his left eye throb as the circle of light opened before them, inviting. He was who he was, because he couldn’t help it. He didn’t know if he had what it took to complete his task, but he was willing to find out. And just like Sinann and her Song were one and the same, just like Harlow and his shadows were just sides of the same coin, Eridan was nothing short of himself. 

As they leaped through the portal, ignoring the destruction around them as the world crumbled away like all Doomed offshoots were meant to, Eridan wondered what was at the other side of his being, what was not him, but also entirely him, that he lacked the distance to see. 

He wondered if he would survive finding out. 

  


* * *

  


Nepeta was bored. 

This, in and of itself, was nothing new. It was very hard not to be bored, when you became so good the hunt started losing its innate shine. She’d chosen a craft and dedicated her not insignificant life to perfect it. And now she often found she was too good to be interested in trivialities. That nothing really got her going unless there was something more at stake, than fear of discovery or threats to her life. She still went along with her duties – she didn’t like calling them duties, though, because that would acknowledge some kind of obligation to them, and she was in no way obligated to do anything except be herself, these days. That being herself also happened to be in the best interests of the Empire was just a very convenient arrangement, that was all. But her duties were increasingly mundane, and at the core, Nepeta prided herself to be something more than a common assassin, to be deployed when Captor or the Empress felt like it. 

She was bored, and she was restless, and that always proved to be a terrible combination, for herself and for others. Mostly others, though, since she was still alive and a great legion of others most certainly _weren’t_. 

She stretched in the command chair of her stolen vessel, yawning dramatically. Captor’s current offer wasn’t exactly tempting on its own: Terezi was very competent and had very little need for an escort. And Nepeta liked Terezi alright, but not enough to babysit her because her moirail happened to be a neurotic control freak and she still refused to do something about it. Nepeta felt approximately zero shame about that thought, even though Equius was pretty much the control freak to end all control freaks. Nepeta was actually a competent moirail, relying on more than serendipity to keep him sane and whole, and considering everything he’d gone through since Eridan and his moirail – another veritable trainwreck of a moirallegiance, but these days Nepeta contented herself with keeping track of romantic developments, rather than showing her friends the error of their ways, because having one thankless job was more than enough for her – had gone and made a mess. 

Even the promise of hanging out in the Fringe, so close to Equius and Imoogi – whom she had still to give up the hope she’d be allowed to kill one day – wasn’t enough to make her accept with the enthusiasm she once would have. 

She was _bored_. 

But in her experience no hunt was even more boring than a dull one, so she sighed and clawed a reply on the keyboard, not quite reluctant but not exactly thrilled either. 

  


* * *

  


Eridan felt a kick of nostalgia to the gut, when he realized where they had landed. The sand was moist and welcoming, under their feet. And he could feel it, along the throbbing under his eyepatch, the pulse of life in this world. He wondered if it was alright, to head into the hive, and see if there was anyone in there. There had to be, he reasoned, studying the shiny luster of the rotten wood, the tender touch of someone who still had it in themselves to give a fuck about appearances and status. He ignored Harlow’s voice, rough and slurred, and ventured inside, _hoping_ … 

He should have known better, than to Hope. 

He should have, but he never learned, because despite it all he was still himself. 

Between that treacherous curl of hope in his heart and Sinann’s scream when she saw the corpse, it was inevitable something would go wrong. And of course it did, in the most melodramatic way possible. 

“You’re an idiot,” Harlow deadpanned, as the body lying in the center of the block tossed and turned, screeching as the soul fought for control, to regain what it had so carelessly lost in the first place. “No, you _fool_ , you can’t just take it back!” He snarled, when Eridan found himself holding the wand in his hand. “You have to convince _him_ to give it back, or you’ll poison this world.” 

“What the fuck does it matter?” Eridan snarled, right back, refusing to admit he felt chastised like a small child, “every world is going to End, anyway!” 

Sinann began to cry, reality writhing in recoil. 

“But not like _this_ ,” Harlow hissed, reaching out to hold onto Sinann, cradling her close and letting his own darkness hum and try to calm down hers. “And you’re not stupid enough to not realize it’s not its time yet. Fix this, and fix it _right_.” 

Eridan cursed under his breath as Harlow walked out of the hive, expression resolute. He huffed in annoyance, as the not-dead, not-really-alive abomination finally managed to stand up. It was obvious there was something wrong with it, from its gait to the translucent hue of his eyes – and Eridan remembered, with clarity that almost scared him, the ghosts in the citadel, with their milky white eyes and their sneers as they bore the touch of death almost defiantly. Eridan tried to focus on that, rather than the tug of sympathy when he estimated his age, so insignificant compared to his own. 

“It’s not fair!” Eridan screamed, because he knew he was wrong, he was not meant to still linger, but there was a poisonous wrath boiling in his gut about this that couldn’t quite be quenched. “It wasn’t supposed to go this way!” 

Eridan stared at himself – who was and wasn’t and could have been but wouldn’t be himself – and barked out a hollow laugh. 

“You have _no idea_.” 

  


* * *

  


Deep within the bowels of the Empire, at the heart of the Home Planet, something stirred. 

Something Righteous and Other, terrible and kind. 

Something that defied, by definition, the very laws that governed reality. 

_Soon_ . 

The Maid shifted in her sleep, deep within her cocoon of frozen Time, and smiled as she dreamed of the world Ending at long last. 

  


* * *

  


“I was meant to live,” Eridan said, studying the goblet spilled on the floor, the remnants of the poison that had taken his life. 

“No, you weren’t,” Eridan deadpanned, struggling to hold back the urge to be sympathetic. 

This was, after all, himself, and he knew better than most that sympathy never made him do the right thing. It ached, though, to see himself like this. It ached more than he would have thought possible, because this wasn’t one of the countless failures he knew himself to be, doomed to say the wrong thing and choose the wrong option every step of the way. This one… this one looked dignified and sure of himself, like he was someone who _mattered_. It had been millennia now, but Eridan still felt the twinge of resentment in his gut, whenever he thought about how much _he_ didn’t matter. He was a pawn. A convenience that could be replaced the moment he stopped being convenient. He was nothing of his own design, had built nothing by his own power. And yet, here was an Eridan who did. And Eridan who hadn’t had his pride beaten out of his bones, his purpose stolen away from him. 

And he was dead, anyway, which in itself was a testament of how much he mattered, in the grand scale of things. 

“I was meant to live,” Eridan insisted, snarling in contempt. “I was… I fixed it. I won them back, I made them _need_ me!” 

_I made them want me._

Eridan swallowed hard and smiled thinly. 

“That only means you actually lived,” he said, hands stuck inside the pockets of his trenchcoat, “it’s not a guarantee for anything else.” 

“I made mistakes, okay,” Eridan stomped his foot and clenched his fists hard enough his claws dug into his palms. “I fucked up. But I didn’t stop. I put it all back together. I made it better!” He reached out and grabbed Eridan’s trenchcoat, tugging him down – only then he realized, the sharp size difference between them, between a child pretending to be an adult, and an adult desperately wishing to be a child again – to snarl right in his face. “We’re _winning_.” 

“But you’re done now,” Eridan said, almost kind, holding Eridan’s hands in his own calloused ones. His hands had no rings in them, no gold or symbols of the status he once had. His hands were worn by hands-on work and his stubborn determination to get everything _just_ right. “You lived and you died, and now you need to move on.” 

Eridan shoved him away. 

“Easy for you to say, you’re _alive_.” 

Eridan frowned, studying his child-self-who-wasn’t-himself for a moment, before he sighed. He reached to his face, pulling the eyepatch off. He knew he had Eridan’s attention, when he saw the horror spread across his face. Funny, that, that he could make a ghost-ghoul- _thing_ nearly piss itself in fright, just showing the entirety of his face. 

“I don’t think you’ll just take my word for it, if I tell you dying _now_ is a good thing,” Eridan said, letting his arms fall listlessly at his sides. His eye ached, and in the edge of his awareness, he knew Reality recoiled in disgust from him. He went on, regardless, because he owed this much, to himself. “But I also don’t think you’ll understand it, if just explain it to you.” He smiled, wary and jaded but still stubbornly determined to see things through. To fulfill his bargain and his promise. “So I’m going to tell you a story, instead.” 

  


* * *

  


The planet was barren, which in itself wasn’t exactly rare. Life was well-known for being choosy about which planets received His blessings, after all. But there was an eerie atmosphere to it, one that seemed to imply it hadn’t _always_ been barren. The Anansi swam lazily around its orbit, as Shaula listened to the reports from her crew about composition and views and everything they could think of. 

They were still spooked, after the run in with the Witch – of course they were, they were _smart_ , the ones that were crew and not cannon fodder, at least – but they weren’t spooked enough to speak against the mission to her, or to ask to leave. Shaula thought, unkindly, that they found the notion of absolute freedom as terrifying as the slavery she’d freed them from. They liked to feel she was their shelter in the storm, the source of confidence and pride that anchored their sense of self. Perhaps it was unkind of her, to find their fear of freedom so amusing, but she felt entitled to the occasional unkind thought, all things considered. 

“Well, that wasn’t so hard,” Camila mused, leaning back on her chair to look up at her Captain with a crooked grin. 

They’d started a civil war in the outskirts of the Federation, which meant Shaula was going to need to clean up her name and chummy up to them _again_ , if she ever hoped to get work from them again. And there had been the annoying deathtraps and the broken deals and the attempts on her life and that one planet they’d essentially liberated purely because they were running low on crew and Anansi refused to fly on, if they didn’t. 

Compared to jobs she’d taken before, Shaula was very tempted to call it easy, herself. Not even a single species had been driven to extinction, no new Empire decided they wanted the secrets of her ship, not even a measly cult to dismantle just because they refused to admit the superiority of Light to all else. 

“If you jinx it I will throw you into a star,” Shaula replied, scowling. “If a job is hard, it’s hard, but if a job is easy, it can only get _harder_.” 

Camila smiled innocently. 

“What could possibly—“ 

She burst out laughing as Shaula shrieked, reaching at her to try and smother her with her hands, as if forcing the words back into her throat. Camila roared with mirth, twisting around until the Captain was sitting on her lap, being cuddled like a stuffed toy. 

“First thing I’ll do,” Shaula snarled mutinously, refusing to let herself melt into the soothing embrace, “once we’re done here, I’m hosting casting calls and getting a new first mate.” 

“Sure you are,” Camila taunted, with the unruffled arrogance of those who know the meaning of job security and are certain they have it. 

“You just wait—“ 

“Captain,” Sydney, Shaula’s chief of communications, interrupted the conversation without a care, “we found something.” 

Sydney was stocky and huge and oozy and wasn’t actually named Sydney, but Shaula couldn’t for the life of her roll the consonants properly against her fangs without lisping like a tool and had summarily renamed him when he’d joined the crew. He didn’t seem to mind much, having grown quite attached to the name and the considerable prestige his position gave him among the crew. He beamed proudly at his Captain as he pulled the video feed straight into the main display. 

“Oh, that’s fucking subtle,” Shaula said, staring at the rock formation and the soft-glowing seal with her sign engraved on it. She shot a glare at Camila, before she could open her mouth. “Not a word.” 

Camila giggled and made a zipping motion across her mouth. It didn’t really make Shaula feel any better, as she ordered the ship to cross the atmosphere and land. 

She was a devout of Light, after all, she was bound to expect the other shoe to drop. 

  


* * *

  


“I used to have one like this,” Eridan mused, holding onto the scarf with surprising tenderness. 

Harlow studied the corpse – silent and at peace, at long last – at Eridan’s feet for a moment, before taking in the scene properly. Hopefully – and he had to snarl in his mind at his own thoughts – the little disaster wouldn’t have far-reaching consequences. Hopefully they hadn’t fucked up a timeline in ways that’d doom it before its time. He could feel it, the echo of their destination in this world. Or rather, he could tell where the gaping hole was, where the Game and all its insidious influence was meant to fit into place. It was strange, however, to reach somewhere that wasn’t on the brink of destruction. The Blue Miles were a looming threat over every universe inside the frog, of course, but somehow they’d managed to arrive long before the end, rather than five minutes before the curtain drop. 

It was odd, but perhaps not wholly a bad thing. 

“Did you?” He asked, at last, cradling a sleeping Sinann in his arms with much the same tenderness Eridan was holding his dead self’s scarf. 

“It was my favorite thing in the world, for so long,” Eridan admitted, rubbing his thumbs over the soft knit, “but I don’t remember what happened to it.” 

Harlow swallowed back a snide remark, as a concession to the great effort Eridan had pulled off already. He was not, despite it all, incapable of kindness. And he wasn’t enough of a hypocrite to not admit he liked the boy and didn’t really wish him ill, for all he enjoyed tormenting him all the time. 

“That’s not—“ He stopped abruptly, as his skin prickled and his eyes narrowed. “We need to go.” 

“Now?” Eridan asked, looking drained and about to fall asleep on his feet. 

“Someone’s coming,” Harlow replied, lips pressed into a tight line. “We should go before we screw up worse.” 

Eridan looked down at himself – not himself, not quite – and sighed loudly. Then he pulled the scarf around his neck, his hands remembering the motions despite the eons since they had last gone through them. He felt comforted, somehow, and hoped wherever he had gone, Eridan felt it too. 

“Then let’s go.” 

  


* * *

  


“There’s unrest in the Fringe,” Sollux said, expression dry, as he nudged a piece in the board. 

His opponent smiled, and it didn’t reach his eyes. But then, few things did, these days. He moved a piece of his own, before primly folding his hands on his lap. 

“There is always unrest in the Fringe, Lord Captor,” the seadweller said, and he almost sounded convincing, when he pretended he didn’t care one bit about it. “That’s why it’s the Fringe.” 

“Feferi would have let you go with Terezi,” Sollux said instead, capturing a rook almost without meaning to. “If you’d asked her.” 

“And why would I do that?” The other, who was not a Lord, nor a Helmsman, nor much anything, and oh so very dangerous because of it, feigned surprise as he closed the trap around Sollux’s forces. “There’s nothing for me there.” 

Sollux found himself scowling darkly at his quickly deteriorating play, and chose instead to be a bastard. Because that had always worked – if not well, at least acceptably – for him. 

“He was your brother, Imoogi.” 

Arthur No Name smiled his empty smile and reached out to knock Sollux’s king, giving no outward sign of being in the least bothered by such words. 

“But I wasn’t his.” 

  


* * *

  


Sollux devoured miles in minutes, pushing his powers to the limit as he approached his target with frantic dread pooling in his gut. Eridan was not one to miss their conversations, nor ignore Karkat and then Feferi. Not unless something had gone catastrophically wrong – and didn’t it always? But Sollux held onto himself and refused to give into the spiral of worry and exhaustion tugging at him from within. 

Eridan’s hive was whole and unruffled, as it appeared in the distance, and Sollux twisted himself into getting angry about things, because anger was a good way of getting through Eridan, sometimes, and maybe anger would help him make sense of that obnoxious ball of wariness churning in his gut. 

And then he saw the light and then the dark, and the whisper of wrongness as Reality shuddered all around him, coming right from Eridan’s tiny island. 

He pressed on, hard enough that without his powers the wind would have sliced him into ribbons, but all he found, when he landed, was an empty hive and a peaceful-looking corpse that stole away his breath. He could have sworn he’d seen Eridan step through the light into the darkness, but while there was no denying he was gone, that was impossible. 

Because there was Eridan, lying on the floor of his thrice damned pretentious foyer, looking like he’d taken a nap and forgotten how to wake up. 

And Sollux could do nothing else but laugh at the sight, because the alternative was to cry and lash out and make a scene Eridan would never let him live down. So he laughed and laughed, hands pressing into his face, because his kismesis was dead and he might have gone insane, but the world was not going to stop turning, no matter what he wanted. 

It wasn’t fair, no, but Sollux knew that already, for all he’d endeavored to forget it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the beginning is from Robin Hobb's _A Fool's Errand_. Which seemed doubly appropriate for this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> [Askblog for this verse.](http://theroadtripfromhell.tumblr.com/)


	2. I - The Magician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes from Fi:** ...parallel parking a whale is about the best mental image in the world. Also, Gamzee. Gamzee, please stop upsetting everything and everyone just by existing. That's rude. Events in this chapter reference Rie's story: _[Of Choices and Destiny](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1804744)_ , which you should totally go read if you haven't already. Shaula and Eridan's relationship will make far more sense if you do.
> 
>  **Notes from Rie:** ...the parallel parking joke might or might not depend on your ability - or inability, in Fi's painful, nervewrecking case - to parallel park. Mind, let's be honest here. Eridan couldn't parallel park a SMART, if his tiny, bewildered mind depended on it. I have a strong fondness for the Anansi crew. More shenanigans to follow, once this trip gets well on its way. (And Harlow and Sinann start to get them all in gross amounts of trouble, in earnest.)

  


* * *

  


_Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration._

  


* * *

  


“I am contractually obligated to point out this is a stupid idea,” Camila said, trailing obediently after her captain as she went about assembling her armor. “Catastrophically stupid, all things considered.” 

Shaula untucked her skirt with a shrug, and pulled it off swiftly before throwing it over onto a chair nearby. She then went about the tedious process of removing every scrap of jewelry on her person, throwing them carelessly onto the pile as well, followed by her shirt. She hummed as she worked, pointedly ignoring her first mate’s sullen glare. She took a moment to stretch her limbs, before folding her hair up into a tight bun atop her head. Properly prepared, she reached out to grab the suit waiting for her, and began the tedious process of squirming into the stretchy fabric that always felt three sizes too small, before she wrestled it into submission. Camila slouched over to the chair and began to patiently untangle Shaula’s clothes, folding them, and putting the jewelry away in its proper place. 

“God, I hate these things,” Shaula said, when she pressed the indents at the suit’s collarbones and caused it to collapse hermetically against her skin. “I look like a friggin’ pear.” She rubbed her hands along her thighs, trying to will away the eerie sensation of the thin fabric stuck against her skin. “At least the skirt has the decency to make my butt look deadly.” 

“Should we really be talking about deadly things?” Camila snorted acidly, clearly not the least bit happy about the state of affairs, but dutifully going along with it, like any proper first mate should. She began passing along the pieces of armor to her Captain, watching with a scowl as she fixed them in place against the undersuit. “But if you hate it so much, you can send me instead.” 

“Is that your sign on the ground?” Shaula asked, eyebrows arched. She looked old, without her trinkets and her hair taking attention away from the lines on her face or the weight in her eyes. “No? Then shush and off you go.” 

She grabbed her mouthpiece, a circular little thing that always left the worst fucking taste under her tongue, and stomped out of the block, back tense and expression fierce. Camila noted with approval that the crew they passed along the corridors stopped by to salute her as she went by. Camila followed closely behind, stomping on the urge to grab Shaula and lock her up somewhere, to keep her from doing something stupid. She was a chosen soul of Doom, and though her practice of Witch rites never went beyond learning to use their power for her own devices, she could feel the twitch of forces trembling, waiting to be set in motion. There was no talking her Captain out of madness, though, and she knew it. So she sighed loudly and stopped at the doorway of the portal room. 

“I’ll watch your back,” Camila promised, annoyed and delighted in equal amounts by the cheeky grin Shaula gave her. 

“I would expect no less,” she replied, before taking the mouthpiece and clenching her teeth firmly around it. 

The helmet manifested itself, a grotesquely oversized monstrosity, because unlike troll manufactured armor, this saw no other way to deal with Shaula’s horns. She looked utterly ridiculous, much like Camila did, when she donned her own set. A tiny, hysterically enlightened part of her mind tried to imagine the Grand Highblood donning such a helmet. Camila bit the giggle in half and hurried along back to the bridge, to take her place at the command chair before Shaula could step onto the portal. She made a habit not to see her Captain leave into suicidal missions, if she could help it. 

“Look alive,” she snarled at the bridge crew, which cowered appropriately at her tone, though she couldn’t shake the feeling they were just indulging her. “Be ready.” 

But she didn’t know for what. 

  


* * *

  


“The Grand Highblood sent his regards.” 

Feferi paused, brush mid-stroke, to look at Aideen’s scowling face in the mirror. Her Head Admin didn’t have what one might call a cheery disposition, but at the moment she looked like she was seriously contemplating calling Gamzee and letting him know exactly what she thought of his _regards_. Feferi frowned. 

“Did he?” She asked, giving another stroke or two to her hair before putting the brush down and reaching for her tiara. 

“You’ll want to see this,” Aideen said, then snorted. “Well, no, you won’t, but you won’t believe me unless you do.” 

Feferi’s frown deepened, as she stood up and followed the tealblood along the corridors toward her audience block. She took no notice of the trolls bowing deeply as they passed; she’d long given up trying to make them stop. And Sollux said it was good for morale, anyway. So she walked along at her own pace, trying to imagine what Gamzee could have done now, and finding each new possibility more dreadful than the last. 

She was not surprised to see the court had vacated the block, leaving only the group of old Subjugglators waiting for her. For all her Empire had steadily and unstoppably moved forward towards becoming a kinder, fairer regime, the Subjugglators remained a constant source of violence and forced pacification that had kept her on her throne, despite the loss of her lusus. After Gl’bolyb’s death, Feferi had expected considerably louder protests and rebellions, and had been also pleasantly surprised to realize the majority of her people were quite willing to remain under her control. Though a tiny, patient voice in the back of her head, which sounded remarkably like her missing moirail, would often remind her that they didn’t know any better and that considering the size and infrastructure of the Empire, they were probably aware they couldn’t survive on their own. None the less, for those who did try to rebel and leave the fold, Gamzee and his Subjugglators had been an instrumental force in keeping stability and avoiding civil war. 

She sat down on her throne and took a moment to study the group before her: they were old, very clearly older than her Empire, clad in black and grey and purple, with strange tattoos and markings on their faces. They looked hateful and uncomfortable to be in her presence, which made her wonder how Gamzee had persuaded them to bend the knee and obey him – and her, by extension – when it seemed pretty clear they would much rather serve her predecessor. 

“Welcome,” she said, hiding her anxiousness behind a thin smile, “what news do you bring about the faithful and the Grand Highblood?” 

They bent forward, one by one, and bowed their heads into their hands, but Feferi was certain they weren’t seeing her, when they did so. And then there was a slight rumbling, as they emptied their sylladexes, and an ominous, thundering clatter as thousands upon thousands of skulls fell into the floor and quickly began to pile up. Some of them still had their horns still attached, Feferi noted with morbid calm, but some were clearly alien. They were white and dry and brittle, and she steadfast refused to think what might have been done to them, after removing them from their previous owners. The tide of bones continued, flooding the vastness of the chamber, rising up along the stairs that led to her throne. Feferi felt a detached pang of amusement at the fact she could stomach this now, without giving into hysteria. 

“The Grand Highblood greets thee, Feferi Peixes, Empress by right and trial of the Alternian Empire,” said the oldest of the trolls, once the last bone rolled into place and the block had fallen into terse, uneasy silence. “He sends thee proof of his loyalty and his service, and a warning not to expect more from him.” The old man stood up slowly, something snide and arrogant in the tilt of his mouth, some fanatical delight she couldn’t hope to understand. “Not now that the great punchline looms above us.” 

At her side, Aideen’s expression darkened considerably, but before she could do something – and oh, Feferi had seen her Head Admin _do_ things, during assassination attempts and court parties gone wrong, that made her wonder if she wasn’t a laughsassin in disguise, despite her claims otherwise – Feferi raised a hand sharply, holding her in place. 

“Leave,” she ordered, refusing to question or acknowledge the message, not until she had a chance to talk to Sollux about it and maybe yell at Gamzee for a change. “You’ve delivered your message and your gifts.” 

“These are not gifts, your Highness,” another of the old trolls said, mirth curling into his voice, as if he were holding back a loud guffaw. 

“These are receipts, of payment long given,” explained the one furthest to the right, with considerable mocking in his tone. 

“A reminder,” concluded the first one, clearly approving of such things, “that your Empire was not granted for free.” 

“Leave,” Feferi repeated, louder and sharper, clutching her culling fork with white knuckles. 

She was not wholly ashamed of the urge to stomp down the stairs and try to see what the clowns would do, when faced against her. She resisted the urge to wince, at the sound of bone cracking under their feet as they turned to leave, with one last mocking, sweeping bow. 

“Where’s the _Messiah_ heading to next?” Feferi asked, after they were gone, looking at Aideen with hopefully none of the dread she was feeling showing in her voice. 

“The Fringe,” Aideen replied, scowling. 

Feferi swallowed hard, took a deep breath and promised herself two hours of crying, as soon as this was sorted out properly. 

“Get me Sollux, Karkat and Garfit, in that order,” she ordered, pushing herself up and starting down the stairs. She ignored Aideen’s attempts to stop her, to let her clean up the mess before she stumbled knee deep in it. Feferi resisted the urge to snarl as bone sank under her weight, rolling around her feet. “And for the love of _god_ , get me the strongest wine we have, for dinner. I feel I’m going to need it.” 

“What about the…” Aideen nodded to the sea of bones all around the block. 

“See if Sollux can identify them. Send their ashes to their quadrantmates if possible, otherwise arrange for proper disposal of their remains.” Feferi gave Aideen a pointed look. “Be discrete.” 

Aideen nodded sharply. She understood the implications behind that order, considering the Empress knew her to always be discrete. The court didn’t need to know about this, and Aideen would make sure they didn’t. 

“Of course,” she replied, with a shorter, sharper bow of her own, before stalking away like a general towards battle. 

Feferi only hoped it’d be just battle, rather than full blown war. 

  


* * *

  


“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Camila muttered under her breath, as the Anansi whined, sullenly obeying her command. 

She felt the tendrils in the Captain’s chair roll about her back, trying to find their place and realizing her back was too big and too wide. She clutched at the controls in front of her, feeling somewhat clumsy, because they had been clearly remade for hands much smaller than her own. Still, the whale twisted and turned, hovering in place as they watched Shaula’s trek up to the large hill beneath the glowing seal. 

Behind her, the forest of cores hummed with power as the Anansi prepared to shoot down any threat on its Captain. Camila found some measure of comfort in that, but resisted the urge to verbalize it. 

“Steady now,” she said, more for the benefit of the crew than anything else, “the Captain’ll be mad if one of you gets trigger happy.” 

Personally, Camila only hoped the Captain would still be alive to be angry, if anything went wrong. 

  


* * *

  


Shaula Serket knew her way around magic pretty well, if she so said so herself. She had to, being who she was and serving who she served. And although her specialty had always and would always be Light, she had made it a point to learn the basics of as many other types as she could, because one never knew when it’d be useful to have that knowledge. There was also the fact her ship was sentient and picky about her meals, and threatened on a daily basis to throw her and her entire crew into the nearest sun, if Shaula didn’t procure her the right fuel. 

So she knew magic, and she knew a lot of different types of magic, but she was willing to admit she had yet to see something like this, in her admittedly long and convoluted life. 

At the core, magic was about will and willingness: the will to command it, and the willingness of the Witches to allow such command. Some cultures had developed complicated spells to harness the power of the gods, essentially just hymns and prayers standardized to produce a certain effect. Other cultures were much more informal about their relationship with the Witches and let magic be a personal and private affair, a contract between caster and Witch. But as Shaula examined the mound of earth, she found nothing familiar about it, none of the usual threads or order that usually shaped magic and will into its desired effects. And bragging aside, sealing spells and how to unravel them had always been her specialty. It had to be, in her line of work. 

The seal before her _was_ magic, of that she was certain, but it was twisted and corrupted in ways she had trouble understanding. There was unfamiliar twinge to it, like an aftertaste under her tongue that made her want to shudder; a malevolent hint of self-awareness that made her cautious about how to approach it. Which in itself was ridiculous, it was impossible for spells and seals to be _sentient_ , they were just power borrowed from greater beings, reshaped and channeled through the will of the caster. 

And then she realized why, with trepidation. 

The seal was built with _Time_ , layered and braided into itself, holding whatever it was clinging to in place by simply refusing to let it exist within the natural flow of Time. Reality itself seemed to be slowly wearing at the seal, trying to revert to its natural order, which combined with the consciousness of its victim to create the ominous sense of impending wrath just waiting to be released. Shaula knew, instantly, that if she broke the seal, the Anansi wouldn’t stand much of a chance against whatever was inside. But she also knew if she ran, Time would find her and then they would stand _no_ chance. She was a Knight of Light, in the end she knew the smallest chance, even against the most adverse odds, was better than no chance at all. She would ride the currents of Light, like she’d always done. She set her jaw and steadied her nerves, searching inside herself for that kernel of blessed power, feeling the mark on her back throb in response. 

Still. 

This was _Time_ magic. Possibly the only example of such, in the whole wide universe. As she gathered her will and her determination, power gleaming at her finger tips, she couldn’t help but wonder who had managed to bargain with the Sage, to be allowed use of his power. Everyone knew Time magic was just _not_ done. No matter how much will one had, how much personal strength. The Sage came down upon those who called his name, furiously and unrelentingly, obliterating them out of existence for their arrogance. Shaula had explored a great deal of the universe beyond the Void Belt, in the many sweeps since she’d left behind the Alternian Empire. She had seen many different planets, learned great many things, and met an astounding amount of people. 

She had found the fear and reverence Time commanded to be the one thing all sentient cultures in the universe seemed to have in common. 

And yet, there it was before her, irrefutable proof that someone, at some point, had managed the impossible. More than that, the magic had been used to create a lock custom made to fit her, as the key. There was elegance to the magic, she thought, a certain sense of mischief beneath the threat of what it sealed away. Shaula had to admit she was thoroughly impressed by the craftsmanship of the seal, and that she felt a small pang of regret having to destroy something so unique. 

She hoped, against all odds, to meet its maker one day. 

  


* * *

  


The trick to open pathways between worlds, Eridan knew, was less about trying to force his way in and more about finding the folds in the fabric of reality, the place where the branches spread from each other and twisted into themselves. The pathways where already there, forged by the nature of the choices that governed each reality; he only had to reach out and grab onto the hinges and pull himself and his companions through. Some part of him always wondered if the paths had been built into the design specifically to serve the purpose of their quest, another sign of Her eventual gambit for restitution of Her rights. But since there was no real way of knowing, he tried not to dwell on it much. It wasn’t his place to try and understand the game the gods had set out to play against each other, only to play his part on the board. 

Still, the paths always linked back to Alternia, to the cradle of each and every world, and in the thousands upon thousands of worlds they’d visited, it was always Alternia that greeted them beyond the door. Always the same and always subtly different, but Alternia nonetheless, because it was in Alternia that the destiny of the universe, of every universe, was to be decided. 

Eridan ignored the whirlwind of color and sound and darkness and madness that surrounded them as they fell, feeling Sinann and Harlow close behind him as they approached the end of the road towards yet another door. His eye ached, a deep, throbbing pain that echoed into his skull and down his spine, as he focused his will and prepared to open the way. 

And then something happened. 

Eridan wasn’t sure how to explain it, other than a rough yank across the malleable threads of reality all around them. Something twisted the path and pulled it elsewhere, unbalancing their fall. Eridan had no real control over their path, because he hadn’t built it, he only knew how to navigate them out of trial and error, and eons of practice. 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he muttered between his teeth, as the door was pulled open without any input from him, spreading like a gaping mouth ready to devour them. 

They fell. 

  


* * *

  


The entire planet shook as the light – burning through the blue of her blood and the orange of her magic, into something red and mighty – shot up into the sky, power fading away to be replaced by something far more vicious. The ground exploded as the creature slowly rose, darkness crackling along its green and muscled limbs. It extended its wings, black and feathered like nothing Shaula had ever seen before, and screeched its wrath up against the stars. 

And then, before Shaula could recover enough to run and the Anansi could make up its mind to try and shoot the monster down, a single point of golden light erupted high above, spreading out into a circle of crisscrossing lines. Shaula recognized it as magic, but yet another type she knew nothing about. It felt powerful and shapeless, impossible to define. The sigil at the center spread out as a pair of wings, not unlike the monster’s, but white and golden, stylized like the sigils of the other Witches Shaula knew. And then the circle pulsed and shifted, turning white. The unknown sigil melted into the familiar shape of Space – whom unlike Time allowed use of his power with an almost gracious delight in those who wanted to understand its laws – and two figures fell through, plummeting towards the ground. 

Shaula realized, after a moment of shock, that the largest of the figures was heading straight for her. 

“Oh _shit_ ,” she muttered, with feeling, and snapped out of it enough to start running away, trying to avoid the collision. 

The Anansi made a loud, feral noise in the distance, and the jewels encrusted on its head glowed angrily as it let out a shot of raw magic at the monster, trying to obliterate it in one shot. The creature opened its jaws wide, wider than seemed possible, and let out a stream of power of its own. The two forces met, at a standstill for a moment, before they exploded with enough violence to throw Shaula off her feet and sending the falling figures flying in the aftermath. With his trajectory redirected, Eridan shrieked like a panicked, wet cat as he tumbled gracelessly across the ground, until he landed in an awkward, painful tangle of limbs against Shaula. Sinann ended up hitting the Anansi in the nose, with enough force to leave them both dazed and making the whale rear back to try and gather its bearings. Eridan snarled as he felt a malicious whisper trying to force its way into his mind, scrambling in place and clawing at his head. 

“Eridan?” Shaula asked, surprised, and the sound of his name returned enough of his senses for him to mentally shove away that voice and pull himself back to his feet. 

“Not now,” he said, looking up at the monster hovering above them. He offered her a small smile. “Later.” 

Shaula took the hand he offered, not stopping to ask questions and instead planting her feet firmly on the ground as she gathered Light again, more resolute than before, to fight and take her chances. Eridan fell into a similar posture at her side, sizing up the monster. And then grabbed her and pulled her away, when it shot another beam of power their way, scrambling to avoid getting vaporized. The Anansi whined in outrage, shooting back again. The ground exploded and the entire planet seemed to shake in place, as the monster screamed. Irrationally, Shaula found herself laughing as Eridan did, though his voice was broken up by some sort of mad delight in the carnage all around them. 

Eridan felt consumed by euphoria as he realized where they were. It wasn’t Alternia, but it didn’t matter. This universe was still pulsing with life, this was the universe they needed to find. The first part of the journey was finally at end. Sure, he hadn’t expected to land in this place in particular and the monstrosity trying to kill them was a novelty. But victory was victory, and for a moment the excitement consumed him, as he took stock of himself and the situation, and found himself grinning despite it all. 

Then the ground shook again and the backlash of the Anansi and the monster clashing sent him and Shaula sprawling again, careening around the ground, because there was a battle going on and it wasn’t going to stop and wait politely for him to be done being silly before continuing. 

In the confusion, the creature lounged at Eridan and Shaula, claws extended. It stopped abruptly as Harlow, oozing madness and a hint of his true power, appeared out of nothingness hovering between them. He pulled a glaive out of the darkness swirling around him and pointed it at the monster’s face. 

“Go on,” he said, taunting, “make my day.” 

The Cherub – it was a Cherub, it knew itself to be, even if this twisted, tainted universe didn’t know, had never known the tender touch of its kind – snarled in place, as if considering its options. It was still weakened, from the seal, but with its freedom came the all-consuming pulse of its purpose, its need to purge this malformed universe out of existence. It could stay and fight, of course, and its pride wanted him to, but it could sense them, further away, clustered together like sitting ducks, the other Pillars that kept this mockery of reality in place. 

It let out a wordless snarl and rose out of the planet, wings spread wide and left without looking back. 

After a moment, Harlow sent the glaive back into nothingness and turned around to take stock of the situation. Sinann was sitting on the Anansi’s nose, peering at the whale curiously. Shaula punched Eridan in the face, hurrying him along as he tried to untangle himself from her. 

“What the fuck?” She yelled, at no one in particular, disgruntled. “What the actual fucking _fuck_?” 

Harlow sighed; it was going to be a long day. 

  


* * *

  


“You look like I feel on your average night and that’s never a good thing,” Arthur said, strolling into the Empress’ quarters with an air of unruffled calm that would have fooled anyone who didn’t know any better. “Honestly, regurgitated hoofbeast shit is not a proper look for an Empress.” 

Feferi looked up from the sea of empty bottles before her – she deserved it, she argued with the scandalized corner of her brain that tsk’d reprovingly at the sight, considering the day she’d had – and stared blearily at him, willing her eyes to work and focus properly. She wasn’t cut out to get drunk, and as a result she avoided it as much as possible. 

“If this is how you usually feel,” she said, resisting the urge to giggle a tad hysterically, “remind me to hug you once I can see straight again.” 

Arthur arched an eyebrow and slouched over to sit next to her, whistling low as he realized just how many of those fine bottles of obscenely expensive wine were very much empty. He was surprised she could talk, but then, she _was_ the Empress. There was no end to the wondrous, magical feats she could perform, in his opinion. 

“Come now, Sollux refuses to tell me anything, as per-freaking-usual, but it can’t be that bad,” he soothed, reaching across the table to pat her hand comfortingly. “I’m sure we can—“ 

“I think Gamzee just declared war on me,” Feferi said, in the absent tones of someone who’s not wholly plugged into reality and the nuances of it, at the time, but still somehow feels they should make a token attempt. 

Arthur paused. 

“Ah,” he said, taking a moment to process the ramifications of that statement. “Excuse me.” 

He reached out for the bottle she hadn’t quite finished yet and threw it back in one big gulp, before placing it back on the table with a dull thud. 

“Yes,” Feferi mused sardonically, “that’s what I thought too.” 

  


* * *

  


“Please,” Eridan said softly, sitting up from the soft bed, claws digging into its sides and head bowed in exhaustion, “don’t say it.” 

“Say what?” Shaula asked innocently, leaning against the wall as she studied him intently. 

“‘I told you so’, or ‘I knew it’, or ‘the Seer was right’,” Eridan enumerated tiredly, looking at her with a tiny, wry smile. “You have no idea how long I spent trying to forget about that fucking prophecy.” 

“By our choice if not by our hand,” Shaula mused, watching him shudder at the words, “the Thief must die.” 

“I never liked Vriska,” Eridan explained with a sigh, leaning back. Shaula thought the eyepatch made him look a lot less threatening than one would expect. Vulnerable. She wondered how he’d gone and lost that eye, noting the golden design etched into it, similar to that sigil she’d seen when they’d arrived. “I never liked her when we were kids and I convinced myself I hated her, and I never forgave her, when she got away with everything and I had to pay a pound of flesh and blood for even the smallest offence.” 

“But then I came along,” Shaula said, stepping forward to go and sit beside him. “And I offered you a way to kill her and run away, and you still didn’t want to do it.” 

“Of course I didn’t,” Eridan laughed quietly, and shoved his shoulder against Shaula, teasing. 

“Why?” 

“Because if I killed Vriska, I would have to either run away with you or stay around to die. Either way, she’d take my life with hers.” Eridan shrugged. “Sure, I didn’t have exactly the sweetest deal in the galaxy, no real power or importance. But my friends and my quadrants and my subordinates. They were _mine_.” He snarled at nothing in particular. “Vriska Serket isn’t worth my old life. Or my new one. Vriska Serket isn’t worth _shit_ to me, not even killing her.” 

“Well would you look at that,” Shaula said, returning the gesture and bumping her shoulder against his arm, “you went and grew up when I wasn’t looking.” 

Eridan laughed. 

“You’re one to talk,” he replied, one eyebrow arched, “you don’t exactly look like a little girl anymore.” 

“Of course,” Shaula preened, “don’t you know anything, really? I’m Shaula Serket, Holy Knight of Light and best procurer of rare and hard to find items in the universe. Of course I’m not a little girl.” 

“So,” Eridan deadpanned, “you went and became a pirate. So much for learning from your Ancestor’s mistakes.” 

Shaula smacked him upside the head. 

“Not a pirate, procurer of rare and hard to find items,” she corrected, scoffing. And then smirked. “Anyway, I just so happen to have an opening in the bridge with your name on it.” 

“Do you?” Eridan stared a little, unsure how to reply to that. 

“Of course!” Shaula laughed. “You might have spent your life trying to forget that prophecy, but I happen to take the word of a Witch very seriously, these days.” Her smile softened, just a tad, and Eridan realized with trepidation that she was sincerely glad to see him. He couldn’t quite recall the last time that had happened. “I knew next time we saw each other, you were going to join my crew. Mind, this ain’t an Alternian ship, and we don’t have that ridiculous nightmare hierarchy bullshit they do, so it’s not exactly an Admin post. But we’ll figure something out.” 

“Your ship is a whale,” Eridan pointed out, after a moment, because he didn’t know how to handle the strange surge of amusement and… and gladness that was swelling in his gut. He’d almost forgotten how much he’d always yearned to have a place of his own. To be wanted. “Just. A _whale_.” 

“Yep,” Shaula grinned, reaching to pat a plated wall affectionately. “Name’s Anansi, but responds to Sir just as well.” And then, her grin deepened as she threw back his words at him, the words he’d spoken so many eons ago, when he’d first met her. “A whale that flies in space, so there’s your first requirement to join the crew, fulfilled.” 

Eridan imagined what life would be, if he took Shaula’s offer. If he was selfish and decided to have what he was never supposed to have. He swallowed hard and shook his head, as his eye throbbed in a painful reminder of who he was and what’s actually at stake. They were in the right universe, at long last, but there were still in the wrong place. They needed to get back to Alternia and fix things, for good. 

“I can’t stay,” Eridan said, standing up and realizing after a moment how tired he was, feeling his body sway in place. “I don’t… I have something I have to do. Me and the others, it’s _important_.” 

“Do you have a ship?” Shaula asked, one eyebrow arched. 

Eridan stared. 

“What?” 

“Do you have a ship?” She repeated, head tilted to the side. “To do that important thing you have to do? Or are you going to do it here?” 

“I don’t—“ _need a ship_ , Eridan didn’t say, because they really didn’t, but at the same time, he was _tired_. He wondered where Harlow and Sinann were, all of a sudden remembering they weren’t in the same block he was. He wondered what they’d say. He wondered how long he passed out, after Harlow drove the monster away. He swallowed hard. “No, but it doesn’t matter.” 

“It does, actually!” Shaula smiled wryly. “I had a… word, with your… friend,” she wiggled her fingers, not quite content with the way the words fit the situation. “He’s kind of pissed at me, for freeing our friend the winged wonder, who’s apparently a reality melting abomination that’s going to destroy everything.” The limeblood had yelled at her for quite a while, which normally wouldn’t have fazed her in the slightest, but there was a whisper of power to him, something that echoed the sense of greatness one had, when standing before a Witch, that made her bite her tongue and let him lash out until he was satisfied. Shaula shrugged. “So he made a deal of sorts with me. I hunt the monster down and he doesn’t kill me in a horrific, soul-destroying fashion.” 

“That does sound like Harlow,” Eridan mused darkly, shaking his head. 

“But the thing is, I know how this works, okay?” Shaula grinned. “If I’m going to go hunting down a thing I’m not really sure I can kill, I’m probably gonna end up tangled in whatever Important Business you have to do. So how about we save us the third act dramatic entrance, and just sort of… cooperate?” 

“We have to get back to Alternia,” Eridan said flatly, one eyebrow arched. 

Shaula paused, filling in the blanks with everything he didn’t need to say: namely, she was a deserter, and unless the Empress’ reforms had somehow reached the point that the military was no longer compulsory for every troll, she was still going to get killed on sight the moment they entered Alternian space. Not to mention the fact, she had run away to be free, and despite how short her time with Eridan had been, last time, he’d understood at least that basic thing about her: her freedom was her life. To head back to the Alternian Empire would mean compromising both. 

“Ah,” she said eloquently, frowning, “well, that’s a problem.” She grinned after a moment, shrugging. “But you know what? Fuck it, we’ll figure something out. My gut says that you and I should stick together, for the foreseeable future, and my gut is rarely wrong.” 

“Of course,” Eridan snorted, shaking his head. “Your gut.” 

“Hey, Douchefins, I’m a servant of Light, okay?” Shaula puffed up arrogantly. “I’ll have you know, my gut is an expert in chances and odds.” Then, she looked uncertain for a moment, trying to feign indifference. “So? How about it? Stick around and get only _the best job in the entire ship_ , and let me help you guys do whatever weird shit you’re caught up with now.” 

Eridan frowned. 

“And if I want to leave?” 

Shaula’s smile turned sincere, just like Eridan remembered it. 

“Then we shake hands like good friends and go our separate ways.” She shrugged. “But I can’t promise I won’t say I told you so, when I’m doing my third act dashing dramatic entrance.” 

  


* * *

  


“Why are you letting the Subjugglators go?” 

Feferi looked up to find Arthur leaning against the doorway of her private office, where she worked away from the spectacle she had to put up in the throne room and where she refused to receive guests. His tone was neutral, withholding judgment, because even now, after all that had happened, Arthur Imoogi trusted her even more than she trusted herself. She found herself smiling wryly at him, finding solace in his uncompromising trust. Arthur always offered advice, and she valued that advice more than she was willing to admit, because it was always exactly what she needed, when she needed it. He’d become the counterbalance to Sollux in her personal council, never once attempting to usurp her matesprit’s place at her side, but offering something so uniquely his own she wondered what would have happened, if she’d had him at her side, before her lusus died. 

Sollux didn’t like Arthur, and Feferi knew it. But she also knew all the reasons that Sollux once had for his disdain were long gone, and now their bickering and constant animosity carried out more on inertia than any real dislike. Sollux knew everything that happened in the Empire, and worked steadily to keep things under control, preserving status quo so that Feferi could breathe and think. But Arthur knew the history and understood the reasons why so many did what they did, and offered insight in how to make things change, because his Empress was an Empress dedicated to change, and he’d made it his mission to serve her to the best of his ability. And so Feferi stood atop her Empire, with Sollux at her right, telling her What, and Arthur at her left, whispering Why, so she could reach out to Karkat and tell him How. 

For centuries, now, she’d kept up the pace, outmaneuvering all obstacles and steadily guiding the Empire away from the shadow of her predecessor, towards a future she hoped was brighter than what they were leaving behind. 

“Well, once I stopped panicking,” Feferi paused, looking suitably sheepish, “and I stopped throwing up and feeling like my head was about to burst, I sat down and actually thought about what they said and what I do know about Gamzee. And I realized I want to see what he’ll do, first, because flailing in a panic over hearsay is childish and not very Empress-like,” she explained, candid. She shrugged, under Arthur’s stare. “You don’t know Gamzee like I do.” 

“I thought only Vantas knew the Grand Highblood in any real capacity,” Arthur admitted, frowning. “And perhaps Nitram. He’s not…” He took a moment to choose his words carefully. “A very conventional troll.” 

“Karkat and Tavros love Gamzee, in their own way, and Gamzee loves them above all else,” Feferi explained, tapping her fingers on her desk, thoughtful. “He and I might not be friends, but we understand each other. We’ve never been enemies, even though I know Gamzee does what he does for his own reasons, not any real commitment to my goals. And to be fair,” she added, when Arthur’s expression darkened considerably, “I do the same to him. We’ve been using each other since we met, and I don’t really have any real moral high ground to be outraged if he’s decided he no longer wants to be used. But I also don’t think Gamzee has any real stake at destroying the Empire or hurting us. He does love Karkat and Tavros more than anything in the world, and I doubt very much he’d risk getting them hurt as severely as attacking the Empire would.” 

“But he’s dangerous,” Arthur said after a moment, “perhaps too dangerous to let loose just like that.” 

“I know he’s dangerous, Arthur,” Feferi smiled, “but I’m dangerous too, and he knows it. So I’ve been thinking about it, long and hard, and I think we’re at balance, for now. And if I can help it, I won’t be the one who’ll tilt it into war.” 

“You have your reasons, to think that way,” Arthur sighed, “and I trust you to be wise about it. But you still need to do something. Everyone will be very antsy about this, once they realize the Subjugglators are gone. They’ll want answers, and perhaps go out and get them themselves.” 

“I know,” Feferi said, “but there are many other things going on in the Fringe right now, besides Gamzee’s Subjugglator gathering. And I’m a bit more interested in those, for now, considering everything else going on here. So I’m sending someone out there, to gather information about the things I do care about, under the pretense of keeping an eye on Gamzee. That way I get what I want, and no one has to get any ideas about doing reckless things on their own.” 

Arthur thought about it, playing out the scenario in his mind, before smiling in a way that finally reached his eyes. 

“Have I ever told you, my dear, how lucky I am to have the privilege of serving you?” 

Feferi winked, mischievous. 

  


* * *

  


“You want me to drive,” Eridan said flatly. “The whale,” he added, because it really did merit emphasis, the fact Shaula’s ship was a fucking _space whale_. “You want me to drive it.” 

Shaula grinned at him, walking briskly down the corridor with the ease of someone who knew her place in the universe and was rather fond of it. Eridan felt the tide of second thoughts rising slowly in the back of his mind. He wanted to go find Sinann and make sure she was alright. He wanted to talk with Harlow and get confirmation he hadn’t made the wrong choice. He needed to get his bearings, and he envied Shaula’s ease to shift from situation to situation without a care. 

“Sure!” She said, good mood dangerously contagious. “I don’t have a Navigator, and you’re the one who knows where we need to go.” 

“Except for the part where I don’t actually know where we are,” Eridan pointed out, resisting the urge to grin back, amused despite himself. “Sure, I did spend more than a thousand sweeps traveling around the Empire and I know it pretty well, but it’s not like I actually know how to pilot a ship.” He paused. “Or drive a _whale_.” 

“It’s surprisingly easy, really,” Shaula said, reaching a hand to pat his arm, “what with the fact that it’s alive and sentient and mostly cooperative.” 

“Mostly?” Eridan asked, a tad darkly. 

They turned a corner in the corridor and ran into… an alien. Eridan stared, not able to help himself, as the tall creature walked towards them. It looked reptilian, with glossy black scales instead of skin, and three sets of arms along its torso – Eridan wondered hysterically who even _needed_ three pairs of arms – one of which carried Sinann and another a measure of plastic rope. Behind the alien, slouching with a casual air of indifference, Harlow was following. Sinann looked fine, Eridan noted, not struggling in the hold or showing any sign of discomfort. Which, Eridan reckoned, was a good thing for everyone in a considerably large radius. 

“Sydney,” Shaula deadpanned, in the tired, wary tones that Eridan recognized as belonging to a nervewrecked admin giving into deadpan snarking to save their sanity. “Sydney, what are you doing?” 

The alien – Sydney – stopped before them, tilting its massive head to the side. Eridan decided that if he ever got into a fight with it, he was going to avoid those jaws. They looked threatening enough. 

“You said—“ 

Shaula raised a hand, stopping him before he could say anything else. 

“I said take her to the _hangar_ ,” she said, enunciating slowly and clearly, “not take her to _hang her_.” And then, in a tone that implied Sydney should be rather grateful Shaula wasn’t really into corporal punishment as discipline, she added: “To _play_. Because she’s a _kid_. And I don’t want her running around the ship and distracting the rest of the crew while they’re working.” 

Sydney stopped to consider the difference in pronunciation carefully, before nodding sagely. 

“Ah,” it said, features twisting into what Eridan imagined must be a bright smile, for someone with its anatomy, “well, that does make more sense.” 

Harlow watched the exchange with an amused smirk that gave Eridan the urge to punch him. Then he realized the smirk wasn’t aimed at him, but found the urge to punch him was still there. Because Harlow was in general the sort of troll-shaped creature one felt compelled to punch at any given opportunity. Eridan shook his head and gave him a questioning look. Harlow shrugged and shook his head, so Eridan resigned himself to talking – and punching – later. 

“Come along, then,” Sydney said, expression turning a lot less threatening at once, “we shall have much fun!” 

Sydney nodded at Shaula and went on, ambling peacefully down the corridor, with Harlow and his damnable smirk trailing behind. Shaula turned to look at Eridan and raised a finger threateningly. 

“Not a word,” she warned, eyes narrowed, “now come along, I’m going to teach you how to drive a whale.” 

Wordlessly, Eridan went. 

  


* * *

  


“I take it back,” Arthur said, sitting cross-legged on his chair, staring at the board. “You’re a terrible Empress and I don’t want to serve you anymore.” 

Feferi laughed at his tone and took his rook with a grin. 

“ _Lies_ ,” she replied, fingering the piece and trying to find an opening in his defenses. 

“You sent Serket to the Fringe,” Arthur deadpanned, moving a pawn and just barely resisting the urge to press his face into his hands. “Out of all the billions of trolls under your command, you sent the one troll both Makara and my Ancestor want dead so much they’ve never bothered to hide it.” 

“Yes,” Feferi said simply. 

“ _Why?_ ” Arthur asked, scowling when she saw through the bait and moved her queen out of the line of fire. 

“Because Garfit and Gamzee are usually in cahoots,” Feferi explained patiently. Arthur knew a good deal about the state of politics in the Empire as a whole, but he seemed to purposely keep himself in the dark, when it came to either his Ancestor or her closest friends. “Garfit won’t let Gamzee do something reckless in their territory without a good reason, and Gamzee knows better than to try and take on Garfit without a trump card. So it’s best to assume they’re working together until the opposite is proven, which is where Vriska comes in. If Gamzee’s really gone rogue, he’s not going to resist temptation to go after Vriska. And then Garfit will naturally step in, because they might want Vriska dead, but she’s still my kismesis and to let her die when they could have protected her would be a direct insult to me.” Feferi paused. “And to be perfectly honest, I did break her arm a little, before she left, so she does really need to meet Equius and get it fixed.” 

“And what if Makara and my Ancestor _are_ in cahoots?” Arthur frowned. “What if Lord Imoogi decides the Imperial Kismesis is a suitable sacrifice for whatever scheme they’re planning?” 

“Then Vriska is going to kill Garfit and use the Fringe troops to stop Gamzee,” Feferi said coldly, and her expression fell into a determined scowl, for a moment letting through the hard, harsh steel core beneath the layers of good will and cheerful optimism. At once, Arthur was reminded Feferi Peixes had killed to get her throne, and for all her kindness had been the defining mark of her rule, she was not a naïve little girl. She hadn’t been, for many centuries now. She smiled, mask falling back in place easily, because it wasn’t so much a mask as a different facet of her personality. “You don’t know Vriska like I do,” she said, wry. “You haven’t reached the point where you simply stop expecting her to fail.” 

“But what if she does fail?” Arthur insisted, because it was his nature to, frowning. “What if she dies?” 

“My kismesis is a monster,” Feferi said at last, not sad or regretful, but completely at ease with that statement. “She’s always been. But so is Gamzee, and so is Garfit. And until we know exactly what’s going on, I reckon it’s wise we let monsters deal with monsters.” She sighed. “I have faith in her. I probably shouldn’t, all things considered, and I don’t trust her to be anything other than herself, but that’s exactly why I have faith in her.” 

“I still think it’s risky.” 

“It is, but then, so is every other option,” Feferi replied, moving a knight against Arthur’s queen. “And like I said, I want to see what Gamzee will do. Vriska is the best person to send over and gather the information that I really want, while also sorting out the situation with Gamzee without having to do much. I get what I want and you get what you want, and everyone’s happy.” 

Arthur made a most certainly _unhappy_ noise in the back of his throat, but didn’t have a suitable reply to that. Feferi shrugged. They continued their game, in terse silence. 

  


* * *

  


“I like it here,” Sinann said, breaking the awkward silence as Eridan and Harlow glowered at each other. “They’re nice, and they’re _alive_.” 

“And that’s exactly why we shouldn’t drag them into this,” Eridan snapped, frowning. “Because once they figure out what we’re out to do, they’re going to be a lot less nice, and certainly a lot less alive.” 

“The Cherub needs to be stopped,” Harlow said, shrugging as he pulled out his pipe and went through the motions of lighting it up. “It’ll get in the way, otherwise.” 

“So let _me_ deal with it,” Eridan replied, annoyed. “Since you’re too fucking lazy to deal with it yourself.” 

“It’s not your mess to clean up,” Harlow went on, giving Eridan a pointed look as he puffed out a cloud of smoke, “it’s not part of your bargain.” 

“ _Fuck_ that,” Eridan said, with feeling. “They have no business getting tangled in _our_ mess.” 

“You’re the one who told her we would stay,” Harlow pointed out with a smirk, which widened when Eridan reached out to snatch the pipe out of his hand. “You’re just freaking out because you nearly drove us into a sun.” 

“ _Shut up_ ,” Eridan hissed, eyes narrowed dangerously. 

It was true, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it. He’d agreed to stick around with Shaula and take a place in her crew, at least for a while. Because she was obnoxious and bossy and so fucking happy to see him, it made him weak in the knees to feel wanted that much. But then he’d gotten the first of his lessons at the whole navigating deal, and it’d taken him a moment to realize he and Harlow and Sinann could survive a detour into a star, with nothing more than maybe mild annoyance, but that wasn’t the same for the rest of the crew. They were _alive_. And they were frail, mortal things that could only hope to die, if they hung out with him and his merry band of troll-shaped eldritch abominations. 

He was a selfish creature, by nature. He’d always been. 

And he was selfish enough to want Shaula and her crew – which seemed all too willing to let him have a place, accept him for all they didn’t know him, because Shaula said so and they believed their Captain could say or do no wrong – to remain. To be safe. Because, and Eridan resisted the hysterical urge to hide his own thoughts from himself, ashamed of them, if everything else failed, he knew he could make his home with them, when everything was over. He didn’t want to think about Equius or Karkat, hating him for what he did, turning their backs away and denying him the home he’d been so desperate to come back to. He’d spent eons working to make his way back, not once allowing himself to consider the very real possibility that in leaving he’d destroyed the thing he’d so desperately wanted back. But if it happened, if it ended and he had nowhere to go, he’d still have Shaula and the mystifying, terrifying certainty that he could be happy there. 

He was a disgustingly selfish creature, by nature; he didn’t want to risk what could very well be his last shot at freedom and happiness in the long run, just because he was too weak to resist the siren song _now_. 

“I like it here,” Sinann repeated, folding her legs up against her chest and wrapping her arms around her ankles. She gave Eridan a longing look. “It’s not lonely.” 

“I don’t—“ 

“Serket isn’t going to kill the Cherub,” Harlow said, with a shrug. “Not really. She can’t. But she’s too dangerous to let loose, and we might need her, later on.” He paused, considering. “And we could use a ship, to head back to Alternia.” 

“We don’t even need a fucking ship,” Eridan pointed out, disgruntled because he knew he wasn’t going to win this argument, and too damn stubborn and selfish to just let it go without a fight. He waved a hand around his face, scowling. “Remember?” 

“No,” Harlow shrugged, “but it’s the principle of the whole thing. The Anansi will take us to Alternia, and along the way we’ll deal with the Cherub.” He smirked. “When time is right.” 

Eridan deadeyed him for that poorly _timed_ joke, his annoyance echoing deep into his soul, into the pulse of something, in the socket beneath the eyepatch. 

“Can you fucking _not_?” 

Sinann looked at them for a moment, then smiled. 

“So we’re staying.” 

It wasn’t a question. 

“Fuck you all,” Eridan muttered darkly, and refused to feel glad about it. 

  


* * *

  


“Vriska is headed to the Fringe.” 

Tavros looked up sharply, and forced himself not to gasp, releasing his breath slowly, when he found Nepeta standing before him. He hadn’t heard her come in. Of course he hadn’t, no one ever did. But unlike most who found themselves unexpectedly in her presence, at least he had the certainty he wasn’t about two seconds from losing his head, literally. 

He tilted his head to the side and took another breath to calm his nerves. 

He wasn’t scared of her, not really. Nepeta had always been a good friend to him, saving his life more than once and occasionally hanging out just because she could. But he knew what she was capable of, and he had more than his share of respect for it. She wasn’t someone that could be taken for granted and she wasn’t someone to trifle with. Nepeta always went where she wanted, did what she wanted, and she was dangerous primarily because she somehow always managed not to make anyone take offense about it. She reminded Tavros of Vriska, sometimes, that reckless willingness to do whatever came to mind, that utter disregard for rules and regulations and things she didn’t want to concern herself with. But where Vriska stepped on others, just for the sake of standing tall above them, Nepeta had a dignity to her that couldn’t be really described. She was a killer and a threat, the same way a force of nature was: impersonal and almost dispassionate about it. There was no spite, to what Nepeta did for a living, no schemes or manipulations. Just the hunt, savage and efficient, for the sake of what she thought was right. Tavros didn’t understand it, but he respected it. And it wasn’t hard, either, to call Nepeta friend, because deep down he meant it. 

“Why are you telling me this?” He asked, studying her posture and the tension knotted between her shoulders. 

“Because she’s going there for the same reason I am,” she said, mouth pursed into an annoyed line. “Things are happening in the Fringe.” 

“That may be so,” Tavros reasoned, wings twitching at his back, “but I don’t have a stake on what happens in the Fringe. It is not my place to meddle there.” 

“Terezi is heading out to the Fringe as well,” Nepeta went on, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. And then her smile turned unpleasant in a way that made Tavros’ gut churn. “Gamzee is already there.” 

“Ah,” Tavros said, licking his lips. “I see.” 

“You really don’t,” her smile softened. “But that’s okay. You’re my friend. Gamzee’s your matesprit, even though I can’t for the life of me figure out what you see in the big oaf.” Nepeta snorted, although not for the reasons Tavros would expect. “Friends don’t let their friends’ matesprits die, without at least a warning first.” 

Tavros realized his hands had fisted without any conscious thought, and his claws were digging into his palms. He let out another slow breath and unclenched his fingers. 

“Are you going to kill Gamzee?” He asked, staring at Nepeta in the eye and wondering how fast she’d kill him if he tried to lunge at her. 

Nepeta laughed. 

“No,” she shook her head. “Not yet, at least.” Then smirked at him, fangs showing. “Not unless he makes me.” She sobered up. “But still. Things are happening in the Fringe. I figured you should know.” 

“I can’t just abandon my post,” Tavros muttered, even though he wanted to. “Not without good reason.” 

“I’d say safekeeping your quadrant grid is a good enough reason,” Nepeta snorted, shaking her head as she turned away. “But I’m just sentimental like that.” 

Between one breath and the next, she was gone. And Tavros was left alone, with an ever growing pile of work that seemed less and less important by the second, and a storm of thundering thoughts inside his skull. 

  


* * *

  


There were five people in the bridge crew, not counting Shaula or Eridan – Eridan didn’t count himself in, resisted viciously the urge to count himself in, because he knew temptation when he saw it and he wasn’t so far gone yet to give in to it – and they seemed to take the idea of a new Navigator with great enthusiasm. 

There was Camila, whose full name Eridan didn’t know and steadfastly refused to ask, Shaula’s second in command and usually in charge of ordering people about with a maniacal giggle that Eridan was terrified to realize was actually pretty comforting. Camila always knew what she was doing, even when she didn’t bother to explain why, and she wore authority with the same ease she wore bone braided in her hair. She liked to ruffle Eridan’s hair, when she passed him by, and by the end of the first ten nights aboard the Anansi, Eridan stopped expecting her to crush his skull when she did. 

Then there was Sydney, who was huge and intimidating and such a staunch pacifist Eridan took his willingness to murder under a misunderstanding as proof of his single minded devotion to his Captain. Sydney was an interpreter, something Eridan had heard of, in his life aboard the _Leviathan_ , eons ago, but had never actually given much thought to. In the universe beyond the troll galaxy, however, there were millions of words, with millions of languages and millions of variations on those languages. Sydney was invaluable to help Shaula communicate, with her own crew and with the rest of the universe, and she pampered him with anything he might want. He was also kind and enthusiastic in a way that made Eridan think of a really small child, one who doesn’t know anything about death and carnage, but when he asked – he shouldn’t have, he knew that, in retrospective, but he had been curious enough to not know any better – Sydney had just said he was a child of Word, and his enthusiasm and willingness to learn was how he worshiped his god. 

There was also Lazuli, with stick-thin limbs and dark blue skin and six red-tinted eyes, deceptively strong and about the most absolutely serious creature Eridan had ever met. Which also made her the single most hilarious creature he’d ever met. She monitored power levels – did the ship have engines? Eridan wondered every now and then, as Lazuli’s droning monotone informed Shaula about status and reserves, but then he remembered this was a _whale_ and he concluded he was better off not knowing – and rerouted them accordingly to flight or fight depending on the circumstances. Lazuli didn’t seem to have a particular opinion on Eridan, just a general approval of his station, or rather the fact _someone_ was taking over it. Eridan gave up trying to make conversation when she droned him into sleep and he nearly drove them into a star – the second time he’d nearly drove them into a star, the first one had been admittedly all his own doing. 

Ehduveeges commanded the weapons system – it was a whale and it had _weapons_ , and no, goddammit, Eridan was never going to let it fucking go – and was Eridan’s least favorite member of the bridge. For no other reason than he glowered murderously and everything and everyone – except Sydney, because by the third night Eridan had realized that no one could hate Sydney, not even Ehduveeges-something-something – and had throttled him after both side trips into stars until Shaula came about and smacked him until he let him go. His name was some weird, long monstrosity that took Shaula about two minutes to pronounce, and not because she was fumbling with it. He looked the most like a troll out of the bridge crew, who wasn’t actually a troll, only weird because his skin was a pale green and he didn’t have horns proper, just little asymmetrical growths on his forehead. And he was nearly as tall as Eridan remembered Gamzee being, which was also another drawback and didn’t really endear him to Eridan at all. 

Last but not least was Nicodemus, another reptile-like alien that Eridan personally thought looked like a barbed lizard on steroids, and who had the charming habit of dying and collapsing into a puddle of goop, which then reformed into an egg and grew up in a matter of minutes back into full adulthood. Shaula had explained his people had been cursed by Life, eons ago, to live the full scope of their life spans compressed into a single day, over and over again. Nico was the only member of Shaula’s crew that had been willing to share his motivation to travel with her, with Eridan: he wanted to find a way to undo the Witch’s curse on himself and his people, and he found Shaula’s penchant to make the impossible possible his best bet to do so. He was in charge of monitoring the crew outside the bridge, those that busied itself cleaning around the ship or handling cargo or preparing meals, and perhaps because he was in essence an admin himself, Eridan found it easier to understand him. Even if the constant hissing was a tad annoying after a while. 

They weren’t trolls – not even Shaula and Camila seemed very troll-like anymore, which Eridan supposed was because they’d left behind the Empire so long ago – and they were very much unlike nothing Eridan had ever dealt with. But it was the good kind of new, the sort that made him curious and comfortable, despite his best intentions to keep himself focused on their mission. Harlow looked after Sinann, while Sinann tormented the rest of the crew with questions and riddles, and occasionally pestered Shaula into revealing her route, nagging about schedules and time constraints all the while. Eridan found himself falling into an easy routine of eating, sleeping and lounging in the comfortable chair in his station, twitching at the controls to keep them on the right course, all the while Shaula talked nonstop about this or that, telling him stories and filling in blanks of knowledge he had no way of having. 

It was nice, Eridan admitted reluctantly, and that was why it was so dangerous. 

He wasn’t supposed to have nice. Not yet. Not until the put an end to the throbbing in his eye, and finished the madness he’d unknowingly started, when he’d been a moron trying to desperately do the right thing, for the sake of his moirail. But now he had it, and he had to struggle with himself, compromising how much he was allowed to enjoy it, before it ruined him and their mission. 

“Don’t eat with your hands,” Eridan said absently, his own clenched tight around the controls, because there was a storm nearby and the last thing anyone needed was a side trip into an asteroid belt – he wasn’t entirely convinced the ship wasn’t going to throw him straight into a black hole if he got it hurt, never mind the fact he wasn’t wholly sure the ship _could_ get hurt – not really seeing Sinann, who was currently picking things off a square plate with her claws, perched on one of his thighs. “It’s gross, kiddo.” 

“Shaula eats with her hands,” Sinann retorted, sucking noisily on a morsel dubious looking purple meat. 

“Sha is an uncouth moron without manners,” Eridan muttered in reply, swerving as gracefully as he could – and okay, the one nice thing he could say about the whale, it somehow obeyed the command without throwing everything inside it roughly to the side or dislodging Sinann from her perch. It was equal parts convenient and disconcerting, but Eridan was sort of used to it, by then. “You don’t want to be an uncouth moron without manners, do you?” 

“Hey!” Said uncouth moron without manners spluttered from her chair, “I happen to have a condition, you ass.” 

Eridan refused to take his eyes away from the display, snorting. 

“Acute allergy to cutlery?” 

“Chronic bad luck,” Shaula snapped sullenly. “I’d probably take out an eye if I tried to use a fork. And honestly, I’m not nearly as pretty as you are, honey, I’m not sure I could carry off the eyeless wonder look as well as you do.” 

“Oh ha, ha, so funny,” Eridan deadpanned, refusing to admit he was self-conscious about his eye patch. “Seriously, though. Stop being a fucking terrible example for the kid.” 

“The kid has you for terrible examples,” Shaula snorted, “her very own cranky Cyclops lusus, so don’t—“ 

“What’s a lusus?” Sinann asked Eridan, ignoring Shaula’s tirade. 

Eridan felt the silence weighting down the bridge, felt Shaula and Camila staring. He swerved again, a tad harder than he really needed to, though of course it wasn’t really felt in the bridge. It just sort of made him feel better. He gritted his teeth. 

“Go find a fucking fork and eat like a goddamn civilized troll,” he snapped. “And then maybe, just maybe, Harlow’ll tell you all about it.” 

Sinann sulked, but slinked away after a moment, scowling. Eridan refused to turn and see the expressions on the other trolls – the other members of the bridge either didn’t really seem to get what was so poignant about that question, or knew better than to ask, because they were steadily pretending to mind their own business. Camila was giving Eridan a calculating stare, while Shaula narrowed her eyes. Then she smirked. 

“See?” She said, obnoxious, “she has you for all the terrible examples she might ever need.” 

Eridan refused to be grateful that she didn’t actually ask. 

  


* * *

  


TA: and that2 about iit  
CG: FUCK  
TA: yeah  
CG: OKAY, OKAY, TELL IT LIKE IT IS, CAPTOR  
CG: DO YOU REALLY THINK MY PANROTTEN MOIRAIL IS ABOUT TO JUMP STRAIGHT INTO THE SHITHIVE MAGGOTS CRAZY TRAIN?  
TA: iim pretty 2ure he2 the one driiviing iit  
TA: but that2 nothiing new  
CG: …  
TA: no, kk, ii dont thiink he2 goiing two jump iintwo the crazy traiin and 2tart a fuckiing war  
TA: and two be hone2t neiither doe2 ff  
TA: not really  
TA: but iit2 gz and people are concerned  
TA: the clown2 di22appearance ha2 been noted all over the iinner riim  
TA: and iit2 makiing the lord2 ant2y  
CG: TO BE FAIR, THE FETID GASSBAGS ARE ALWAYS FUCKING ANTSY  
CG: THAT’S KIND OF THEIR FUCKING THING  
CG: AND I KNOW HE’S UP TO SOMETHING, HE DID SAY AS MUCH, LAST TIME I SAW HIM, BUT HE GAVE ME THE IMPRESSION HE WAS TRYING TO MAKE AMENDS FOR SOMETHING, RATHER THAN STARTING A FUCKING CIVIL WAR  
TA: but he thiink2 a club two the face ii2 a good way two make amend2  
CG: DON’T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?  
CG: HE’S MY MOIRAIL, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, OF COURSE I’M FUCKING AWARE HOW DERANGED THE POOR PITIFUL BASTARD ACTUALLY IS  
CG: I KNOW, OKAY, DON’T GET YOUR SELFRIGHTEOUS HATEBONER GOING INTO ANOTHER FUCKING LECTURE ABOUT MY ABYSMAL TASTE IN QUADRANTMATES  
TA: wouldnt dream of iit  
CG: GOOD, KEEP AN EYE ON VRISKA  
CG: I KNOW WITH THE TRUVIAN SHIT WE’RE ON A TIGHT SCHEDULE, BUT I’M GOING TO TRY AND DROP BY OVER AT THE FLAGSHIP TO STRAIGHTEN THINGS OUT WITH FEFERI  
TA: that ii2 a fanta2tiically 2tupiid iidea  
CG: I KNOW, BUT IT’S BETTER THAN GIVING INTO THE URGE TO FLY OUT INTO THE FRINGE AND BEATING SENSE INTO GAMZEE’S EMPTY SKULL  
CG: HE’S NOT ACTUALLY AN IDIOT, SOLLUX  
CG: HE JUST LIKES MAKING PEOPLE THINK HE IS  
TA: ii know, that2 why he2 2o damn dangerou2  
TA: but ii 2uppo2e iit2 better iif he2 dangerou2 and on our 2iide, than dangerou2 and aiimle22  
CG: I THINK YOU’RE WRONG  
TA: how 2o? ii mean, be2iide2 your u2ual certaiinty that iim alway2 wrong, on priinciiple  
CG: IT’S NOT THAT HE’S NOT AN IDIOT, THAT MAKES HIM DANGEROUS, IT’S THAT HE’S NEVER, IN THE CENTURIES I’VE KNOWN AND LOVED HIM, BEEN AIMLESS  
CG: HE’S GOT A REASON FOR GATHERING HIS TROOPS TO HIM  
CG: I CAN PROMISE YOU THAT  
CG: THAT REASON MIGHT BE TERRIBLE AND HORRIFYING AND HE’LL PROBABLY MAKE US ALL FEEL AN URGE TO STRANGLE THE FEARMONGERING BASTARD BUT THAT WON’T MAKE THAT REASON ANY LESS REASONABLE IN THE LONG RUN  
TA: faiir enough  
TA: tz iis vii2iitiing her friiend2, two  
TA: 2o iif 2hiit goe2 pear2happed iin the friinge, there2 2omeone tru2tworthy two keep vriiska under a lea2h  
TA: and ii a2ked np two keep an eye on tz two  
CG: WELL FUCK ME SIDEWAYS WITH A CLOWN CLUB, WITH SO MUCH SHIT GOING ON AND SO MANY OF US OUT THERE, I’M GOING TO HAVE TO ACTUALLY TALK TO GARFIT, AREN’T I  
TA: you could alway2 talk to eq in2tead and have hiim deliiver the me22age  
CG: YEAH, HOW ABOUT NO  
CG: ZAHHAK IS STILL SO FUCKING DEEP INTO ANGSTY DENIAL HE MIGHT JUST PUNCH ME IN THE FACE NEXT TIME HE SEES ME  
CG: AND I’M NOT VERY LIKELY TO SURVIVE THAT  
TA: iit wa2nt your fault  
TA: any of iit  
CG: ANYWAY, REMIND VRISKA SHE’S THERE TO INVESTIGATE THE SHIT THE EMPRESS ACTUALLY CARES ABOUT, NOT TO TRY AND USURP THE FRINGE FROM UNDER GARFIT’S THUMB  
CG: THE LAST FUCKING THING WE NEED IS THE GODDAMN DRAGON OF THE FRINGE GOING ON A FUCKING SPITEFUL RAMPAGE BECAUSE VRISKA WAS BEING A DUMB BITCH  
CG: KEEP ME POSTED, PLANETS ARE DESTROYED EVERY DAY, IN THE GODDAMN FRINGE, WHAT WITH THE TOURIST JACKASSES AND THEIR INSIPID CONQUEROR ROUTINES  
CG: BUT WE DON’T WANT THIS SHIT TO ESCALATE ENOUGH FOR ANYONE ELSE TO REALIZE THERE’S SOMETHING GOING ON IN THE FRINGE, BESIDES MY MOIRAIL’S STUPID TANTRUM AND GARFIT’S FURIOUS MOURNING  
CG: I’D SAY MAKE SURE THE COURT STAYS FOCUSED ON THE TRUVIAN FRONT, BUT SINCE FEFERI SAW FIT TO SEND VRISKA OVER TO THE FRINGE THAT MIGHT BE COUNTERFUCKINGPRODUCTIVE  
TA: much a2 ii hate two admit iit, vrii2ka wa2 probably the be2t choice, all thiing2 con2iidered  
CG: DON’T CARE, I’M THE CHANCELLOR, I’M UNIQUELY ENTITLED TO YELL AT THE EMPRESS IF I WANT TO  
TA: art miight have beat you two iit already  
CG: GOOD KID, I KNEW THERE WAS A REASON I LIKED HIM  
TA: except you dont  
CG: I DO, I JUST DON’T WANT HIM ON MY SHIP  
TA: and 2o you 2ent hiim two mine  
CG: CONSIDER IT KISMESSITUDIOUS CONCERN, HE DOES YOU GOOD  
TA: yeah right  
CG: HE’S LIKE A CHEWTOY THAT ACTUALLY CHEWS BACK, SO  
CG: KEEPS YOU IN LINE  
TA: fuck you, kk  
CG: SURE, I’LL PENCIL YOU IN, BUT I MIGHT BE TOO BUSY SAVING THIS FUCKING EMPIRE, AS PER GODDAMN USUAL, TO REALLY INBULGE YOU  
TA: omg, youre 2uch a fuckiing dork  
CG: YEAH, BUT YOU'RE A SHITHEAD, SO  
TA: <3<  
CG: <3<

carcinoGeneticist [CG] has ceased trolling twinArmagedons [TA]

  


* * *

  


“You’re in luck, Douchfins.” 

Eridan looked up from his station in the bridge – and it boggled the mind, that the bridge looked so much like the bridge of the ships Eridan knew, considering the Anansi was very much _alive_ – to the Captain’s chair high in the back row. Shaula grinned at him, sitting in her throne with an almost regal air. 

“Why do I feel the exact opposite of that,” Eridan said, deadpan, “when you use that tone?” 

At his right, in her own station, Camila broke down into a hysterical giggling fit that made the hair on the back of Eridan’s neck stand on end. He remembered the nun, from the last time he and Shaula had run into each other, so many centuries ago. And he had been mildly surprised to see she was still around, looming and terrifying, as she’d been. He wasn’t afraid of her anymore, though. He couldn’t, not after all he’d seen and done since then, and he found himself wishing for the simpler times when Subjugglators of any kind made him start to sweat and swear under his breath. 

Camila seemed almost mellow, for a deranged Subjugglator anyway. She’d grinned at him and been almost friendly, while he learned the ropes of the whole driving the fucking whale thing. Which he was never going to get over, because it was a goddamn whale that flew in fucking space, and it shouldn’t really register in his mind, on the scale of weird shit he’d seen, but it did and it always fucking would. 

Eridan took a moment to give Camila an annoyed glare, before he turned back to Shaula and her grin. 

“Because you’re a sourpuss who doesn’t know how to enjoy himself,” Shaula replied easily, ignoring his disgruntled look. “The Festival of Light is starting, in a planet nearby. So we’re taking a detour.” Her eyes danced with mischief. “You’re in for a treat.” 

“We don’t have time to go sightseeing,” Harlow said, walking into the bridge with that uncanny ability of his to appear exactly when he was wanted least. “We’ll lose the Cherub’s trail if we delay.” 

Eridan felt the urge to disagree, on principle, even though he knew the Old Man was right. 

“That’s rough, buddy, but we don’t really have a choice,” Shaula shrugged in the face of Harlow’s glower. “I am the Sanctified Knight of Light, chosen servant of Her Grace, the Bard of Light. I am bound to stop by and pay respects to Her, whenever I might chance upon Her entourage. I will kinda drop dead on the spot, if I don’t. And I know the thought of losing me is enough to drive you to tears,” she added, before Harlow could retort something snide, “but if I die, the _ship_ dies. You might survive that, but my crew certainly won’t. And since a million of you aren’t worth one of my crew, _fuck off_. Put on a goddamn smile and resign yourself to enjoying the Festival.” 

Eridan looked from Harlow’s thunderous scowl to Shaula’s taunting sneer. He buried his face into his hands. 

“Oh, _joy_.” 

“Not really,” Lazuli pointed out after a moment, when the silence became too long, her expression perfectly blank, “Joy is a bastard. I’d know,” she added, ignoring the stares she got for her trouble, “I worship Him.” 

“…of course you do,” Eridan muttered, resigned. 

Beneath the eyepatch, the pain throbbed almost comfortingly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote at the beginning by Charles Dickens.
> 
>  
> 
> [Askblog for this verse.](http://theroadtripfromhell.tumblr.com/)


	3. II - The High Priestess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Faith is the bird that feels the light, when the dawn is still dark._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes from Fi:** ...welcome to the freakshow, everyone! Also, very, very strong allusions to events in [_Flotsam_](archiveofourown.org/works/445442/chapters/761872), in this one. Namely, who the fuck Tyrell/The Seer of Doom is, and what's the history between them and Harlow. It should still be understandable even if you've never read Flotsam, though. (The usual warnings for Wreckstuck apply, everything is pain and nothing ever works out well, if you haven't read it. Save yourselves. _Save yourselves._ )
> 
>  **Notes from Rie:** Freakshow is putting it very mildly, really. Also, hello, Aradia, you are the best patron troll.

  


* * *

  


_Faith is the bird that feels the light, when the dawn is still dark._

  


* * *

  


“You owe me, anyway.” 

Equius stopped, screwdriver hovering midair half an inch away from Vriska’s shoulder, and turned to look at her with disbelief. 

In retrospect, he shouldn’t be surprised. This was Vriska after all. Equius had long given up trying to figure out his feelings for her – odd kinship and keen disgust and outright envy and that odious sense of camaraderie that never failed to make him smile, just a little, when she barged into his quarters and demanded his attention with a smirk and a clearly edited story to make herself sound great. She was a friend, in an awkward, roundabout way that he couldn’t explain. He knew she was a terrible person, of course, she wore that banner like a badge of pride, but she was also his _friend_. The first friend he ever had, and it was complicated and stupid and even after so long he felt no remorse when he flicked a switch and made her slap herself with her arm, but she made him laugh, had been the first troll to ever make him laugh, awkward and self-conscious. 

And that had to mean something, had to be worth something, if not for her, then for himself. 

Like right then, as he chuckled wryly, one eyebrow arched, and continued work, prying the metal paneling at her shoulder, very careful not to touch skin – he’d resolved to never touch Vriska’s skin again, after she molted into adulthood and he’d adjusted her arm, finding himself accidentally grabbing a handful of breast while trying to fix the shoulder support, and enduring the unending teasing that followed afterward. 

Vriska was vibrant and selfish and arrogant and terrible in all the ways Equius had once thought was good and proper for a blueblood to be, but knew deep down he didn’t have the stomach to pull through. Ideals were changing, though, and he found hope that he would be able to fulfill them, as they became softer and nobler, under the Empress’ reforms. Lord Imoogi’s instruction was certainly helping with that. But Vriska always made him feel weak, cowed under her bullying and her grins and the fact nothing seemed to be able to stand in her way. 

“Do tell,” he muttered wryly, gently prying bits of reinforced metal off, layer after layer, until he found the main connection to the nerves on her shoulder and delicately pulled it loose. Vriska hissed a shaky laugh under her breath, even though the pain had to be excruciating, every time he did that. “What do I owe you for?” 

_This time_ , he didn’t add, though he thought it loud and clear. He always owed Vriska something, no matter what. And he found it almost comforting in a way, how this one thing in his life refused to change, because it hinged on Vriska remaining herself, no matter what. 

No one really liked Vriska, Equius knew, feeling not quite sad about it, because Vriska had made sure to burn the bridges and claim her pound of flesh and blood for all slights, imagined or otherwise. She was stubborn and strong and charismatic and terrifying, and even the Empress herself allowed her to remain herself, because there was nothing else for her to be. Vriska was like a star, in Equius’ mildly biased opinion, bright and beautiful and fascinating, from afar, but lethal from up close. You couldn’t get close to her, without rising third degree burns and losing a few limbs along the way. No one really liked Vriska, though a good chunk of people, trolls and aliens alike, lived in fear of her. She liked that, Equius reckoned, because fear and respect were one and the same in her eyes. And most of those who didn’t outright fear her, despised her for her actions or her attitude about her actions, her wholly unrepentant determination to be herself, no matter what, and take pride in her accomplishments, monstrous as they were. 

Equius was not afraid of her, though. Had never really been, either. As far back as he could remember, he’d always been half awed, half horrifically amused by her but never afraid. He was stronger than her, physically at least, and no matter how many centuries went by, she’d never been able to use her powers on him. She’d tried to bend him to her will with her mind and then tried to kill him with less refined methods, and when all failed, she’d sat down and laughed and decided they’d be friends instead. Equius’ thoughts on the matter hadn’t really entered the equation. 

It was odd and Nepeta didn’t like it, but Vriska was his friend, Equius concluded, wry. And he was her only friend, probably. He couldn’t just turn his back on her, even though that was exactly what everyone else around him thought he should do. 

“I’m nearly done cleaning up your mess, in the Truvian front,” she said, lone eye bright and taunting. “And boy, that was one hell of a mess, Zahhak.” 

“I see,” Equius said, bland, and shook his head. “Though I’m not sure how that is something I should thank you for. As far as I remember, you’d been trying to get me _killed_ , to get that post.” 

“Well _d’uh_ ,” Vriska snorted, admitting freely to what both knew was the truth, “of course I was. You were being dumb and stubborn and refusing to admit I was better suited for the job.” 

“You had your own job,” Equius said, tiredly and without really meaning it, just because he was expected to say it. “If I recall.” 

“ _Boring_ ,” Vriska drawled, grinning. “Do you think I wanted to spend the rest of my life trailing after Nitram and cleaning up after _his_ incompetent shit?” 

“I wouldn’t really call Lord Nitram incompetent,” Equius replied, eyebrows arched, as he finished prying the arm off her shoulder, studying the damage it’d sustained. 

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Vriska laughed, “you’re too fucking polite for that. But he is, and I was so done with that crap. _So_ done, Equius, you don’t even know. It was a fucking relief when you decided to call it quits and come running to hide behind Garfit’s skirts.” 

Equius smiled tightly, feeling a twinge of rage and despair tugging at his heart as unwanted memories came rushing back. Something rumbled, in the ventilation shafts above his lab, as if sensing his sudden distress. He turned his head up and narrowed his eyes. 

“Don’t,” he ordered, voice firm, and the resulting sound from the vent was almost a reluctant grumble, only wet and alien. Vriska was grinning at him, when he looked down at her. He found his cheeks coloring slightly, feeling embarrassed and ashamed of his own thoughts, even if he knew she couldn’t see them. “Then I don’t owe you anything,” he said, curt and defensive, “if _I_ did _you_ a favor, by stepping away from my post.” 

Vriska stared at him. Equius stared back. Vriska laughed. 

“Nice try, Zahhak,” she said, tossing her hair back with a smirk. “Do something interesting this time, will you? What’s the point of having a robot arm if it’s just an arm?” 

“It’s an _arm_ ,” Equius snorted, frowning. “What do you expect it to be, a wing?” 

“You could put a laser in it,” Vriska went on, eyebrows arched. “Or a gun or a sword or _something_. Make it cool!” 

“Cool,” Equius said flatly. 

“ _Uber_ cool,” Vriska replied, grinning with her fangs. 

Equius knew a losing battle when he saw it – all battles against Vriska were losing battles, because she played by her rules, and the only rule she acknowledged was that she was always right and she always won, no matter what – so he sighed. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

  


* * *

  


“And what do you think you’re doing?” 

Camila squinted at the limeblood-that-couldn’t-possibly-be-just-a-limeblood-given-the-rather-damning-evidence-otherwise, fighting conflicting urges. She was a Subjugglator – a nun, at that – and even centuries outside the Empire had not shaken up her faith or made her lose her purpose, not even a little. Consequently, there was a damn near inbuilt instinct to reach out and squish the limeblood’s head like an overripe grape between her fingers, since he was uppity and loud and bossy and annoying, and she was a _Subjugglator_ and no swillblood little shit talked to one like that and _lived_. 

On the other hand, Camila was decidedly not suicidal. 

She was one hundred percent certain that any attempts to dislodge Harlow’s head from his gangly body were going to result in things that were horrible and painful, horribly painful and painfully horrible. Possibly in that order. 

So she stood there for a moment, riding the conflicting impulses and then sighing loud and clear as she offered a shrug that was the body and soul of _fuck me, I’m just doing what I’m told_. 

“Escorting you,” she offered, then shrugged again, with a lot more awkward folded into it for effect, “Captain’s orders.” 

“Do I look like I need _or_ want an escort?” Harlow demanded, cranky and annoyed and determined to not enjoy himself during the Festival, just to spite Shaula’s overwhelming good mood since she’d announced it. 

“Not particularly, no,” Camila said with yet another shrug, this one of the no-seriously-fuck-me variety, “but—“ 

“Exactly.” 

And then with an indignant scoff, Harlow was gone. There was no flashy lights, no oozing darkness, no tears in the fabric of reality. Just a very conscious decision to be elsewhere, and the universe realizing promptly that it was in its best interests to comply, if it still had a scrap of self-preservation left. Camila blinked. 

“Isn’t an escort the same as a hooker?” Sinann wondered, standing by Camila’s left and not reaching even her knee with the tips of her tiny horns. Camila stared. “Because you don’t look like a hooker.” 

Camila took a moment to process that sentence, then plopped down on the floor next to Sinann, poncho flapping as she did. 

“What.” 

“Well, Harlow and Eridan got into a fight once,” Sinann explained, shrugging. 

“Just _once?_ ” Camila muttered under her breath, and grinned when the girl giggled in amusement. 

“So Harlow called Eridan a…” Sinann frowned, trying to recall the memories. Her knowledge was like a bowl of murky water. She had the sense that everything was in there and she could keep a rough impression of how everything went, but then she’d try to pull out a very distinct strand and she had to think hard and remember the path to the memory, which was always more complicated than the memory itself. “A brinesucking cuntwhore.” 

Camila choked on spit. 

“And so Eridan said that if that was true, at least he could remember to put on a fucking shirt and not look like a bulgemulching two-penny hooker.” Sinann chuckled. “They didn’t get along well, in the beginning and this was before I got big and small again, so they were trying not to mess up my words. I didn’t get the thing where a word means something but when you use it, it means something else when I was… well, _before_. So it was confusing.” Sinann blinked. “Anyway, you don’t look like what I imagined a hooker would look like, from what Eridan explained what a hooker _is_ , but a hooker is the same thing as an escort, right?” Sinann’s eyes got rather wide and interested. Camila was still somewhere in the process of getting her lungs and her pan to reboot and work properly this time. Sinann grinned. “So! Can I see your hooks?” 

Camila blinked. 

“My _what_ now?” 

Sinann stared at her, expectant. 

“Well, you can’t be a hooker without hooks, right?” She wrinkled her nose. It was disgustingly cute. “That’d be just _dumb_.” 

Camila decided two things. She was not going to kill Harlow, not even going to try, because that was suicidal and stupid and she prided herself on being neither. 

But she was going to strangle Eridan. That was a holy vow. 

  


* * *

  


“That was subtle.” 

Harlow turned to the source of the voice and smirked. The Witch stepped forward, into the bright, warm sunlight. As they did, their body reshaped itself, folding back into a borrowed, familiar form. Harlow felt a pang of nostalgia as the horns unfurled, two corkscrews atop their head, eyes a cynical olive green. 

“You know me,” Harlow said, smirk melting into an unrepentant grin, “I don’t _do_ subtle.” He arched an eyebrow. “Feeling nostalgic, my dear?” 

“Well,” and the voice had changed, too, layered, like two and two thousand different people, speaking all at once, echoing. “If you’re going to parade your memories around, it feels only fair we do too.” The Witch paused, considering. “It was not an unpleasant form, for all we despised why we took it. You were kind to us, old friend.” 

“Another world, another life,” Harlow shrugged, pragmatic, “there might not be room for much kindness now.” 

“We know,” the Witch smiled, in a way the body they’d chosen never did, in that life. “You are playing a dangerous game. We have Seen the consequences of failure.” 

“Then it’s a damn good thing we’re not going to fail,” Harlow said, eyes hardening. “But you can’t See that, can you? That’s why you’re helping.” 

“If I cannot See, then neither can He,” the Seer mused, wry. “But it is far from certainty.” 

“Of course it is,” Harlow laughed, bitter, “how else would it hinge on Hope?” 

The amusement fled from the Witch’s face, leaving only a dark scowl. Harlow watched, guarded, as emotions passed through the familiar filter of a troll’s face, even if the creature feeling them was not a troll any more than he was. It was strange, Harlow admitted, standing face to face with someone – some _thing_ – that matched him in age and bitterness and resentment. That didn’t happen often. He had been old, when he’d found Eridan floating amidst the nothingness of the Void, clutching to the girl like a lifeline and trying not to fall apart at the seams. He’d been ancient, tireless and unrelenting, but ancient all the same. And since then… 

It was odd, to realize there was something kindred, between the Witch and him, beyond platitudes about lives both knew damn well didn’t matter anymore. The past was gone. The world they’d met in and walked twice over was gone. Just like all the others. Just like this one would be, soon enough. 

“She is not to be trusted,” the Seer said, after a moment, looking strangely sad for all their voice was bitter, disappointed, almost, “She has suffered the most among us, and this is Her gambit to repay that debt, but She can’t be trusted. It is Her very nature not to be trusted.” 

“I know that,” Harlow snorted, “but Her gambit is the only thing we have left, and I, for one, am not going to sit down and let shit happen just because.” 

“You will do what needs to be done, you always have.” The Seer smiled vaguely. “We appreciate that. If nothing else, Tyrell always respected that about you.” 

“Tyrell is dead,” Harlow said tonelessly, memories murky and unfocused in his mind, but that fact standing up clearly amongst them. 

And all the helpless anger that came with it, watching the cynical bastard monotone his way into death like it was a privilege he didn’t want to share. He was surprised to realize it still hurt, even after all the lifetimes that separated him from that moment. Harlow scoffed. 

“Tyrell is here,” the Seer said, pressing a hand to their chest, smile widening, “Tyrell is me, just like Hetair and Cardif and the thousand others that opened themselves to me. Tyrell is home.” 

“He was home when you took him,” Harlow muttered a little snidely, then hissed when the Seer reached out, arms wrapping around him. Darkness seethed under his skin, but they seemed uncaring as they rested their forehead against his shoulder. “We would have given him a home, a _real_ home, if you hadn’t forbid it, Seer.” 

“I did what had to be done,” the Seer sighed, and then relaxed a little, when Harlow hugged back, awkward and almost reluctant, trying to keep plausible deniability despite the fact he was clinging. “We were never supposed to be in that world, and we all made hard choices, when we realized it. He would have been happy, with you. He would have called you family and meant it, if things had been different.” The Seer pulled back, looking up at Harlow with a smile when they realized his hands were still on their shoulders. “But they weren’t any different, and we all did what had to be done.” 

“I can’t trust Her,” Harlow said, expression wry, “I know that. The boy is a fucking inbred idiot, and even he knows that. But can I trust you? Can we trust any of you?” 

The Seer stepped back and raised a hand, gathering energy in it, Doom and Void and Heart and Mind and several dozen others, condensing into a small point of white light that settled into a very innocuous form: a blank card, no bigger than a common playing card, hovering above their hand as it spun slowly in place, crackling almost ominously. 

“It is our nature not to be trusted,” they said, wry. “We are Gods, we are Righteous and Wrathful, and yes, petty and selfish too. You can only trust us to be ourselves, nothing else but ourselves, to the very end. But we do not follow Him by choice or love or loyalty or anything you might understand, because you are not like us.” They stretched their hand, offering Harlow the card. “You can’t trust us, but we offer you a token of good will, nonetheless.” 

Harlow took the card, not touching it, but allowing it to fall into his palm and hover there instead. It pulsed with the power it had been infused with, the Seer’s and all the others, coiled tightly into each other, waiting to be used. 

“And what am I supposed to do with this?” Harlow asked, eyes narrowed, half expecting all that power to lash out at him, repulsed by what he was. “Play it in a hand of poker?” 

“This is Her plan, Her revenge for all the slights She’s endured, but She’s still Herself, and it is Her nature to be wild and unpredictable and defy all rules,” the Seer smiled. “You won’t stand a chance against Her, if She loses Her grip on Herself. This will stop Her.” The smile melted away, olive eyes narrowed dangerously. “ _Once_.” 

Harlow closed his fist, sending the card into the depths of the pocket of darkness under his skin, where it’d be safe until – if, he told himself, testily, _if_ – he needed it. 

“Duly noted,” he said, smirking, “thank you.” 

“They know,” the Seer sighed a little wistfully, nodding at him. “Maybe not everything, maybe not enough, but They know. They can feel reality screaming in outrage all around you.” They shrugged. “They will be there, when the ti—“ The Seer trailed off, mouth twisted wryly. Harlow laughed. “You know.” 

“Yes, I do know,” he snorted, “for all I really wish I didn’t.” 

“Will you last long enough?” The Seer seemed almost concerned, though whether it was about his safety or the integrity of the plan, Harlow wouldn’t know. “To see it through?” 

“Please,” Harlow said, smug. “Remember who you’re talking to.” 

The Seer did not return the smile. 

“I do,” they said, voice oddly hollow, “do you?” 

Harlow’s expression darkened. 

“You were my brother, once,” he said, eyes narrowed, “that won’t stop me from punching your fucking teeth in, if you earn it.” 

The Seer shrugged. 

“Fair enough.” Their expression was pinched and amused and awkwardly glad, all at once. Harlow resisted the urge to reach out and hug them again, when Tyrell’s voice – _just_ Tyrell’s voice – said: “It’s good to see you, you stupid, stupid _fool_.” 

“Go fuck yourself, my dear,” Harlow replied cheerfully, saluting mockingly. 

And then the Witch was gone and he was left to deal with the storm of thoughts in his mind. 

“Well,” a new voice echoed, melodious and mocking, “you’re a lot less impressive than I expected.” 

Harlow turned around and snarled at the newcomer. It was going to be a long day. 

  


* * *

  


“The thing is,” Shaula explained, one hand on Eridan’s elbow as they walked along the main street, flanked on each side by stands and shops and crowds of aliens of all sorts of shapes and sizes, “Condesce burned everything to the ground and salted the goddamn ashes, whenever she encountered new lifeforms. Troll superiority above all else and shit. But in retrospect, I think she was just scared to realize we’re not really the center of the universe or the best, strongest species out there.” 

Eridan remembered Condesce – what had remained of her, after Feferi killed her, a ghost with a gash of teeth for a smile and ruthless strength trying to pound him into a fine paste – and laughed shakily under his breath. 

“I don’t think Condesce really knew how to be scared,” he said, wry. 

“Yeah, but you have any idea how many civilizations she destroyed?” Shaula arched an eyebrow. “Starting by our own? She turned us into this… complex war machine, reduced individual trolls to cogs and sprockets, replaceable and worthless, and pretty much turned our culture into glorified militaristic propaganda.” Her eyes softened somewhat, watching people go about their business, buying and selling and eating and being loud and happy, rejoicing in the gifts of Light. “Things are different out here. Sure, there are Empires and wars and the Federation is a fucking pain in the ass, lemme tell you, but people are free to be what they were born to be, not what some moldy old piece of shit Empire needs them to be. People are people, good or bad or anything in between, and they’re all _different_. The differences are celebrated, because the Gods made them that way. And the Gods might be a bunch of asshole runny cunts, with few notable exceptions, but they _made_ this.” 

“I don’t know about the Gods,” Eridan said, lying through his teeth. “But Condesce is not the Empress anymore.” He frowned. “Condesce wasn’t even the Empress you were hatched under,” he added, one eyebrow arched. “Feferi is different. She wants to make things better, she truly does.” 

“Does she?” Shaula snorted. “Because let’s be real, so long as she’s an Empress, trolls are nothing but slaves under a different name.” 

“She wants things to change,” Eridan insisted, feeling like he should stand up for Feferi’s memory, even if he acknowledged – privately – the fact he didn’t really know much about the state of the Empire now, not after being gone so long. But some things, he just couldn’t doubt. “No one wants trolls to be free more than her, but things are complicated. You said it yourself, Condesce fucked us over, royally, Feferi needs to make sure everything is ready to undo her bullshit, and that takes time.” 

“Dress it up as nice as you want,” Shaula snorted, “but a cage is a cage and a slave is a slave. She could free trollkind if she wanted to, but she won’t. And all the excuses in the world won’t change _that_.” 

“People would _die_ , Sha,” Eridan said, eyes narrowed. “We’re talking billions and billions of trolls, here. Do you understand the logistics nightmare that’d be to dismantle the Fleet? Finding everyone a place to live, make sure they have the resources they need to thrive and not fucking starve to death?” 

“So let them fucking starve,” Shaula snarled a little, scowling. Eridan stared. “Freedom isn’t nice, isn’t _kind_. Freedom is hard and terrifying. It’s everyone for themselves and no one but themselves, and yes, people die, trying to be free, but better to die free than a slave.” 

There was a harshness in her voice, that told Eridan she wasn’t speaking platitudes or talking about theoretical musings. There was something hard and unforgiving in the way she spoke, that let Eridan know that something had happened, in the time since he’d last seen her, something terrible and awful that he probably wouldn’t want to ask about. He swallowed hard against a dry throat. 

“I don’t see why we’re having this conversation, anyway,” he said, after a moment, “there really isn’t much I can do, about the Empire. Even after all is said and done, all I ever amounted to was a neurotic bureaucrat concerned with shit no one else bothered with. And even that’s a stretch, considering I left and people are probably looking forward to strangling me for it.” 

“Because you want to go back,” Shaula said, one eyebrow arched defiantly. “You want to be that neurotic bureaucrat again, and take your place among the ranks, when this is done. And I want you to understand that you have a choice _not_ to.” She tugged on his arm, hard. “That there is life, outside the Empire, that things are better, here, and once your stupid savior complex mission of doom is done, you can have that. If you want it.” 

“With you?” Eridan asked, frowning. 

“You’re damn good navigator,” Shaula said, smirking as his frown melted into a scowl. “You drive that whale almost as good as I do, and I’m better only because I cheat. I could use someone like you, in the long run. You have a talent for it, why go back and squander it on people who, to quote you, probably want to strangle you for being yourself?” 

“Because it’s my home,” Eridan said, defensive, trying to pull away from her, “because it’s all I’ve ever had and everything I’ve done, I’ve done it for it.” He paused, thought of Karkat and Equius and Agness and all the rest. “Them.” 

“And they’re trolls, enslaved to their Empress,” Shaula went on, unforgiving, “and I bet they’re not even gonna appreciate all you’ve done. I would. I do.” She smiled, almost kind. “You’re an idiot, but you’re a talented idiot, and I don’t like watching talent go to waste.” 

“I can’t, Sha,” Eridan said, swallowing hard. “I really can’t.” 

“I want to show you that there’s more to the universe, beyond that tiny, cramped cage you call an Empire,” Shaula said, sliding her hand down his arm to link her fingers with him. “I’ve seen some of it, and what I’ve seen is amazing, unlike anything I’d ever known, back there. And I know there’s still a million things I’ve never seen or done before, waiting to be discovered.” She shrugged. “I know we never knew each other well, back when we first met. We still don’t, really. But we could. We’re not really that different, you and I. We could be friends, and we could do great things, together, if you give us a chance.” 

“I want to stay,” Eridan admitted quietly, after a moment, throat thick with something he hysterically realized was tears he refused to shed, “I like it here, with you. I really do. I want to be your friend. I like being your Navigator, even if I will never fucking get over the fact you have me driving a goddamn _whale_.” Shaula’s smile faltered as he pulled himself together. “But I made a bargain, and I need to see it through. I’ve sacrificed too much already, to let it go to waste.” 

“Then don’t!” Shaula shrugged. “Look, we’re stuck together, for the foreseeable future. I have an eldritch abomination to slay, and you have your… whatever it is you have to do.” 

“Take Sinann back to Alternia,” Eridan supplied with a wry smirk, eyes tired. “Sinann and Harlow. It’s my job to guide them there.” 

“Fine, whatever, that,” Shaula shook her head, waving the hand not clutching Eridan’s around. “But you’ve been holding back, keeping your distance, trying not to get attached.” Before Eridan could say something, she snorted and squeezed his hand. “I don’t go about snooping into people’s heads or mind controlling them into doing things my way, because that’s the easy way to do things and that’s _boring_. But I’m a psychic and the empathy thing? That I can’t turn off. I can smell it off of you, really. And I’m sick of it.” 

“I’m sorry,” Eridan said, feeling himself blushing slightly. “I don’t—“ 

“You’re being stupid,” Shaula declared, pretending she hadn’t heard him. “So cut it out. Get attached. Enjoy having your place among the crew. They like you well enough, as it is.” 

“My mission—“ 

“Is important, I get that,” she said, offering a lopsided smirk. “I do. I’ve run my share of errands for Gods, I know what’s it like.” Eridan gave her a look that showed how much he doubted it, and she laughed. “Okay, maybe I don’t know what it’s like, in your case, but the point is, you can get attached. You can have a place. It’s yours to have it. And I’d certainly appreciate it if you stopped agonizing over it all the time, giving me a fucking migraine every time someone’s nice to you, because you’re an idiot.” 

Eridan was horrified to realize how easily the words spilled out his mouth. 

“If I don’t have anything, there’s nothing that can be taken from me.” 

Shaula stared at him, considering. Eridan tried to pull away, hunching his shoulders, but she held onto his hand, tightening his hold until he stopped trying to break it. 

“That’s what we call cutting off your nose to spite your face, you _dumbass_ ,” Shaula said, though there was no mocking in her tone. “You should have whatever you want. If you can take it, you should have it, that’s my motto.” Eridan snorted, despite it all, because that was a very Shaula thing to say. “Look, if someone tries to take something from you, you fuck their shit up and make sure they never do it again. And if they do take things from you and you can’t stop it, no matter how hard you try, then those things weren’t yours to have, in the first place. It’s as easy as that.” Eridan opened his mouth. Shaula finally let go of his hand, to punch him in the arm. “And if I hear another word of self-deprecating bullshit from you, I’m going to bash your head into a wall.” 

Eridan stared for a moment, trying to pull himself together. Then he laughed, choked and uneven. 

“Aye, Captain.” 

  


* * *

  


“So! You gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

Vriska smirked widely, sitting on a corner of Garfit’s desk, and waited. Garfit stared up at her, impassive, hands folded neatly. With each moment that went by, Vriska began to wilt, bit by bit, and Garfit remained the same, unamused and unmoved by her presence or her antics. Eventually, nearly five minutes of silent staring and measuring up against each other, Vriska gave enough ground and stepped back, removing herself from the desk. Garfit smiled thinly. 

“Something rather unfortunate,” they said, expression wry, “and very unusual, at that,” they added, one eyebrow arched: “One of my plans backfired.” Garfit scowled. “If you dare say _aha_ , I will legitimately hurt you, Lady Serket.” 

Vriska smirked, refusing to cower before the old Lord’s glare, and folded her arms over her chest. 

“Fine, be that way,” she said, rolling her eye theatrically, “let’s do this the boring way, then.” She leaned in, trying to loom and failing somewhat given that she was on the opposite side of the height spectrum, to pull that kind of thing off. And when it came to Garfit, charisma just wasn’t enough. “Are you in cahoots with Makara?” 

“Always,” Garfit said, both eyebrows arched challengingly. “I am Lord Paramount, Lady Serket, that means I am in cahoots with all Lords and Ladies worth something in the Empire.” 

“Ha, nice try,” Vriska sneered, “you’re not in cahoots with _me_.” 

“Whatever business the Grand Highblood has in the Fringe is less pressing than other matters I’m devoting myself to,” Garfit went on, not bothering to dignify the remark by acknowledging it. Vriska glared, but they ignored that as well. “I had hoped to make a spectacle of my grieving for my Heir, as a means to keep people focused on the Empress’ progress on the Truvian front. Alas that was not meant to be.” 

Vriska remembered, all of a sudden, why she disliked dealing with Garfit so much: because the pretentious dumbfuck enjoyed downplaying her success all too much for her liking. She knew damn well the disdain was very much mutual, but it never really sank in until they were both in the same place at once. She scoffed, wishing they’d give her an opening to sink her claws in and take their post from them, just for the sake of pissing them off. After all, her place at the head of the Truvian front was soon to be unnecessary, and she’d like to have something more important to do, than go back trailing after Tavros and fixing up his diplomatic messes. 

“What’s so damn important, then? What do you want to keep under wraps so badly?” She asked – demanded, really – resisting the urge to kick the desk in annoyance. 

“Telling you would defeat the purpose of that unsightly spectacle I’ve subjected myself to, wouldn’t it?” Garfit smirked, amused at her annoyance and her rather poor attempts to hide it. “Rest easy, Lady Serket, I still know well how to do my job.” 

“The Empress—“ 

“Knows better than to doubt my judgment,” Garfit interrupted, sneering back with millennia of practice. “A skill I see you’ve yet to develop yourself. More’s the pity, but there’s little to be done about that.” Their expression darkened, closing up enough that it tempted Vriska to sink a few hooks into their mind, just to see what they were really thinking. She didn’t want to, though, because Garfit was ancient, and the older the troll, the more complex the web of thoughts and the easier it was to just… get lost in their mind. And Vriska could list a lot of things she’d much rather do, than get lost inside Garfit Imoogi’s cesspool of a pan. “You’ve had your arm fixed to your satisfaction, and you have such an important errand to run, after all. I’m sure I will not be seeing you aboard once the next shift rolls about.” 

“I could have your head on a spike, if I cared to,” Vriska snarled, baring her fangs and refusing to back down. “Just so you know.” 

“Respectfully, my dear, I doubt that very much.” Garfit stood up, smiling pleasantly as they brushed invisible lint off their clothes. “But since you came all this way for nothing, I’ll see that you’re given the coordinates of the last… unfortunate event on record. Maybe that’ll convince you to go back to the Inner Rim, where you belong.” 

  


* * *

  


“And none of them are trolls?” 

Sinann looked up at the aliens around her, curious. The Bridge crew found themselves stuck with the girl, since Camila had realized she couldn’t hope to handle her on her own without getting very, very drunk. Sydney was rather thrilled at the idea, since Sydney was always thrilled at all ideas. But with Sydney around, so was Ehduveeges, because tall, angry and brooding never liked having the mountain of cheer out of his sight for long. Lazuli and Nico had been a lot less willing to hang out, but considering Camila dead-eyed them into submission, they didn’t have much choice. 

“None of them,” Lazuli said, matter-of-factly, “besides the Captain and your group, there are no trolls here.” 

“Does that mean they’re dead?” Sinann went on, holding onto Sydney’s lowermost left hand and Nico’s right one, frowning. “Are they all gone already?” 

“They’re jussst back home,” Nico hissed, tail swinging behind him, “why’d they be dead?” 

“Trolls are always the first to die,” Sinann replied, shrugging and swinging her arms. “I’m hungry.” 

“The Festival of Light has many, many delicacies for you to try,” Sydney beamed enthusiastically as he nodded sagely. 

“Many poisons, too,” Ehduveeges growled under his breath, lurking behind Sydney, at Camila’s left. 

Camila laughed. 

“Of course there are, this is Light they’re celebrating,” she said, hands stuck into the hem of her pants, at her back, slouching comfortably. “Everything’s a wager here.” 

“You’ve been to many Festivals before?” Sinann wondered, looking around her and taking in the lights and the shiny trinkets adorning every surface available in shades of orange, the sigil of Light stamped everywhere. “Is it always here?” 

“The Festival of Light goes wherever the Bard and her entourage goes,” Lazuli explained, voice monotone. “It lasts as long as the Bard feels like and heads out to wherever she wants. Planets scramble to receive the Bard with the appropriate pomp, but they never really have much time to prepare. And to offend a Witch is a very grave thing indeed. It’s all about chance, you see. And very disorderly, very… random.” 

“The Captain goesss to asss many asss she can,” Nico added, shrugging his massive shoulders and making the spines along his back twitch as he did. “It’sss her duty.” 

“Because she’s the Knight, right?” Sinann nodded to herself. “The Knight of Light.” 

“ _A_ Knight,” Sydney corrected gently, and then tugged on Sinann’s hand, nodding at a group of aliens of all shapes and colors walking together as a platoon, all of them wearing the same ornate swords hanging from belts or their backs: the blades translucent orange and the hilts crowned with the sigil of Light. “There are many Knights in the service of the Bard of Light. The Captain’s just the most… notorious.” 

Even Ehduveeges cracked an acid snort at that, given the size of that understatement. Sinann watched the Knights as they stopped and turned, hurrying along while trying not to seem like they were hurrying in the first place. She seemed to be the only one who noticed, everyone else was focused on her. They weren’t very subtle about it, either. 

“You shouldn’t worry about that, anyway,” Nico added, shaking his head, “we’re here to enjoy ourselves!” 

“Captain's orders,” Camila agreed, lopsided smirk tugging at her mouth. “Official and all.” 

Sinann stopped walking abruptly. Camila nearly stepped on her. Sinann didn’t pay them any mind, when they looked down at her and asked what was wrong. Sinann was staring at the distance, feeling the static twitch in the tip of her fins. Her expression darkened. 

“Stay here,” she ordered, letting go of the hands holding her back, her limbs lengthening, her eyes filling out with a very distinct hue. “You’ll be safe here.” 

A pillar of Light erupted in the distance, orange and ominous, quickly seconded by a pillar of darkness and screaming madness. Sinann, no longer a small child, summoned a trident from the depths of the void and took off running in that direction, before they could ask any questions. She vaulted into the rooftops with astounding ease, hair whipping behind her like a mantle of black, eyes narrowed dangerously. 

She kept her Voice caught in her throat, though, and all the horrors within it, because there were thousands of people around, innocent people going about their business. They had no quarrel with the Gods. 

Not like she did, anyway. 

  


* * *

  


Shaula stopped abruptly, mid joke, her hands slacking around Eridan’s arm. He had given up trying to pry her off his side, so the sudden freedom was eerie. In her eyes, flecks of Light glinted among the blue, something ominous that made shivers crawl down his spine. 

“Sha?” 

The earth shook, as Light and darkness rose to the sky, taunting. Eridan groaned in the back of his throat, because of course Harlow would go pick up a fight with the goddamn Witch. It was Harlow. He turned to Shaula, but found her jaw set and one of her hands pressed tight on her chest. 

“I have to go,” she said, voice barely a whisper, before she took off, skirt billowing behind her. 

Eridan took a moment to swear filthily before he took off after her. 

  


* * *

  


The Witch of Light had chosen a Speaker that towered above most creatures, limbs massive like tree trunks, with barbs and spikes running along her body. She wore fine fabrics in the colors of her domain, orange and yellow, with metal trinkets hanging off both skin and cloth. She was a living statue, monumental and fearsome, her eyes glowing stars. 

Harlow was very fucking unimpressed, more so when the Witch simply allowed the contingent of Knights to stand between them, commanding them to stop him. 

“I am a gambler by nature,” the Witch said, taunting, as Harlow dodged those goddamn fancy swords and shoved the hapless creatures away with a swing of his glaive, “but I am not a fool.” 

“Picking a fight with me isn’t the best way to prove that,” he snarled, darkness crackling along his limbs, eyes dark, “just so you know.” 

“You expect me to put my faith in you, without testing your worth?” 

Harlow swung the glaive, dull side up, and slammed it into a burly, compact alien that squealed in surprise when he shoved it away and sent it flying. 

“I don’t have to prove myself to you, of all people,” he said, pulling back, “I’m not the one who fucked up this so badly that we ended up in this mess in the first place!” 

The Knights might not understand his words – maybe, he wasn’t sure – but they understood their God’s command and they certainly didn’t like the tone he was using to address her. No matter how many times he pushed them back – he didn’t want to kill them, not really, it wasn’t their fault they had to serve an idiot – they pulled themselves together, pushing forward. It was getting tiresome. And it was also wearing him down, eating away at his self-control, which was a bad thing for anything living in a really big radius. But most importantly, because it wasn’t time yet, and he wasn’t about to fail just because some uppity asshole Witch felt entitled to certainties he’d never had. 

“How _dare_ you?” 

Harlow looked up, swearing under his breath, as Sinann landed on the roof of a nearby building, the walls sinking under her weight. She didn’t look happy, and that was really not in anyone’s best interests. The Witch, who clearly lacked even the most basic sense of self-preservation, screeched at the girl-who-didn’t-really-look-the-part-anymore, one massive arm motioning towards her and sending her Knights running at her. 

Sinann didn’t run. Harlow knew better than to expect her to run. He closed his eyes and braced himself, taking advantage of the fact the Knights were no longer focused on him to swear some more. 

Sinann opened her mouth and _Sang_. 

For a moment, the world slowed down to a complete stop, as the first notes echoed from her throat in all their terrible glory. Then Reality itself seemed to recoil back in shock, as the dozens upon dozens of beads braided into her hair pulsed with Life and Fate, summoning the ghosts of lives long past. Sinann paused long enough to slam the bottom of her trident on the ground, marking a switch in rhythm and intent, and the ghosts solidified, gleaming black and white, eyes empty as they carried out her will. They had been made to fight, after all, for all they had lived past that, exiled to a dying world long after the reckoning consumed it. Sinann had stolen them away from their fate to wither away with the universes they’d been stranded in, but as everything, it came with a price. Rooks and towers, knights and peons, they spread out the plaza, filling it up with the translucent echoes of what they once were. 

The Knights of Light fought bravely, stubbornly, with the single-minded determination of the zealot who cares none for its wellbeing beyond pleasing its God. 

And their God laughed, watching the two armies clash, holding in place, like two blades locked in combat. 

Harlow snarled in contempt. 

  


* * *

  


Eridan didn’t ask where the damn sword came from. It was just there, gleaming in Shaula’s hand, as she ran ahead, past the crowds and the stalls and the screaming. Eridan hurried after her, though he stopped at the edge of the plaza, even though she dove into the fight without a second thought. He took a moment to study the scene, calculate a few odds in the back of his head and swear yet again. He hadn’t signed up for this, for any of this. It was stupid and ridiculous and unfair and all he really wanted was to eat some greasy, fried food – because it was one of those unspoken rules of the universe that festival food, no matter what world, must be by necessity greasy and fried and delicious – and maybe listen to Shaula tell another overblown story about her greatness. 

Beneath the eyepatch, something throbbed. 

Eridan watched them all, Shaula taking her place among the other Knights, Harlow pushing the tide away, Sinann singing orders to her puppets, the Witch cackling in delight about it. He watched and he watched and then he reached to the side, pulling his rifle from his sylladex. It was the old, standard fleet issue one he’d carried, lifetimes ago, aboard the _Leviathan_. He’d looked after it, despite it all. Inside his sylladex, the wand pulsed angrily, but he ignored it as he loaded the rifle and prepared the shot, ignoring the chaos all around him. 

He didn’t need magic or darkness or madness or anything else. 

Just a bullet. 

Just one shot. 

The Witch screamed when he hit an eye squarely, bursting it with a gross, wet sound. The battle stopped long enough for all faces to turn to him, and Eridan smiled. It was not a nice smile. He threw the rifle behind him, flinging it back into his sylladex. 

“An eye for an eye,” he said, grinning, “and She’ll consider _that_ debt paid.” 

The Witch howled in outrage, stepping forward, crushing Sinann’s ghosts and some of her own knights in the process. 

“And what about _my_ debts?” The Witch snarled, swelling in size, “what about what _I_ am owed?” 

Eridan’s grin didn’t falter, head tilted back, unafraid. He ignored the way Shaula stared at him, sword loosely held in her hand. Since he’d interrupted Sinann’s song, her ghosts were vanishing, melting back into the beads braided into her hair. Harlow looked at him with something like grudging approval, as he lowered his glaive, tip pointing to the ground. Behind him, Eridan sensed the rest of the crew approaching, desperate to make sure their Captain was alright and not quite sure how to proceed, given the circumstances. 

“Last one pays for all,” Eridan said, the words flowing easy from his tongue, like a mantra he knew held the last truth in all the universe, and sank his hands into the pockets of his coat, nonchalant, “but not if you screw us over here, now.” 

“You chose the wrong master to serve, boy,” the Witch said, “if you were hoping for Fair.” 

“She pays Her debts,” he retorted, shrugging, “in Her own way.” He added, after a moment, almost as an afterthought: “So do I.” 

The Witch seemed to consider his words, head swaying back and forth. The Knights awaited her command, swords in hand, slowly closing ranks around her, and the absurdity of their desire to protect one of the few beings in the universe – in all the universes – that didn’t need protection made Eridan want to laugh. He resisted, but just barely. 

“Then go,” the Witch said at last, “go and pay your debts.” Eridan bowed his head lightly, not nearly as reverent as it was custom, but then, he wasn’t bound to worship but one Witch and he knew by now he’d never bow low to any other. The Witch shifted her attention elsewhere. “Shaula Serket, Knight of Light.” 

“Your Grace,” Shaula said, falling to her knees, forehead to the ground. Beneath her, a circle of light lit up, the sigil of Light bright and powerful, as the Witch’s will flowed from it into her, coursing through her veins and making the mark on her back throb with the echo of her own bargain. “Command me.” 

“Make sure he does.” 

And then the Witch was gone, taking with her the rest of her Knights, leaving only the Anansi crew standing in the plaza. For a long, long moment, no one said anything. No one even moved. There was just too much to process, to do anything else but stand there and gape. 

“Don’t say a word,” Eridan growled, once the silence settled in, glaring at Harlow as he allowed himself to relax, bit by bit. “Not one fucking word, you drunken _fool_.” 

“I was going to say that went remarkably well,” Harlow said, ignoring Eridan’s murderous snarl, “all things considered.” 

After a moment of incredulous silence, Shaula kicked Eridan’s ankle, making a frustrated, wordless sound in the back of her throat for lack of anything coherent to say. Eridan allowed himself a shaky, nervous laugh. 

“Don’t look at me,” he said, slouching, “I’m just the dude that drives the whale, remember?” He paused. “Dear fucking god, I can’t believe I actually said that out loud.” 

“Does that mean the Festival is over?” Sinann wondered, walking towards them and melting back into the familiar shape of a small girl. 

“Let’s go find the fucking cherub,” Shaula ordered, glaring pointedly at Harlow, “I’m suddenly in the mood to murder something _unmurderable_.” 

“Unmurderable isn’t really a word,” Lazuli pointed out, even as she followed obediently behind Shaula. 

Eridan picked up Sinann, before she could ask, giving Harlow another annoyed glare when the limeblood yawned loudly as he stretched. He followed Shaula as she stalked away, jaw set. They were going to talk about that little episode, Eridan knew. They were going to talk and yell and throw things, he just knew it. He wasn’t looking forward to that. 

For the time being, though, small mercies were on his side: no one seemed in a hurry to say anything. 

  


* * *

  


The _Acheron_ reached the coordinates Garfit had provided without any major inconveniences. Vriska felt oddly naked without the brunt of her fleet with her, but she refused to let it show, sitting in the bridge and listening to the reports as the warships explored the area thoroughly. 

There was supposed to be a planet, out there, only there wasn’t. Not anymore. 

It was unnerving, the fact there was no trace left. 

Even the _Deathfowl_ couldn’t destroy a planet so cleanly, so utterly. There should have been something left behind, debris or energy readings or _something_. Instead there was nothing, a hole in space that didn’t really stand out in the vast emptiness all around them. If Captor hadn’t confirmed the information, Vriska would have thought Garfit had set her up in a goose chase while they went ahead with their own plans. 

Vriska ground her teeth, as each report repeated the same awkward platitudes over and over again, trying to pretend they weren’t coming back to her empty handed. She was wondering if she could get away with framing one of her Captains with something stupid that’d justify culling them – it’d been centuries now, since she’d lost the privilege to just cull any idiot that annoyed her, thanks to her kismesis’ ongoing desire to turn the goddamn Empire upside down – when the systems went dark. All screens blacked out, and her crew cried out in surprise or fear, she couldn’t quite tell. But it was more than just Captor being a twat, she knew, because a moment later the bridge was flooded by darkness and she found herself standing alone in the middle of it. All the trolls around her, gone, just like that. Not even dead, because there were no bodies left behind, just. Gone. 

“Hello, Vriska.” She turned to the source of the voice and found herself staring. “It’s been a while.” 

Aradia Megido, half consumed by darkness, smiled at her, an unkind gash of teeth and madness, as blood dripped down her brow, from where her horns had been, once. Vriska tried to make out her features, but found she couldn’t, as they shifted over and over again. But it was Aradia, she was sure. She didn’t know how she knew, she just did. 

“Oh _fuck_.” 

Aradia’s smile got, if possible, even wider. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote at the beginning by Rabindranath Tagore.
> 
>  
> 
> [Askblog for this verse.](http://theroadtripfromhell.tumblr.com/)


	4. III - The Empress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When the Fox hears the Rabbit scream he comes a-runnin', but not to help._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes from Fi:** You know, between Gamzee and Aradia, I legitimately cannot tell who'd be worse to have as an enemy. Fuck, I don't know who'd be worse to have as a _friend_. Arthur continues to break my heart. Things continue to go from bad to worse.
> 
>  **Notes from Rie:** Gamzee is such a delightful little shit in this, I can't handle it. The GamNep will never cease to amuse me, either. Also, I'd never thought I'd feel sorry for Vriska, but holy shit, I feel sorry for Vriska. And it's only going to get worse, from here on out.

  


* * *

  


_When the Fox hears the Rabbit scream he comes a-runnin', but not to help._

  


* * *

  


Aradia took a moment to watch Vriska’s face cycle through shock and disdain and just the barest hint of fear, ignoring the screech of grimdark madness writhing under her skin. She didn’t have much time, not with the power of all the Handmaids pulsing through her veins and trying desperately to free itself from her grasp, but she had been waiting for this moment. She had been waiting for _so long_. So many plans and ploys and lies and half-truths, all of which she’d used to pave her way to this moment, where she was at the brink of oblivion and rebirth. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” Aradia said, folding her arms so she could hold onto her elbows and pretend that helped any to keep her form from imploding into shimmering bits of corrupt madness. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment.” Her smile was wide and uneven, stretched too thin on one side and layered on too thick on the other, shifting, incongruous. It was her smile but it was also the compound smile of all her sisters, plucked from the grasp of death, the ghost of them, anyway, and shoved into herself, so she could endure what she had to do next. “This is it, Vriska!” 

Vriska looked distinctively unamused at the prospect of a gleefully psychotic Aradia melting into grimdarkness so hard she couldn’t hold herself together. Literally. 

“You,” she said, enunciating very slowly, very clearly, “are insane.” 

“Most certainly, at this point,” Aradia agreed easily, smile not receding. Vriska was almost willing to admit it was one hell of an unnerving smile. “But that’s within the expected parameters, so it’s acceptable.” 

“Says who?” Vriska snarled, eyes narrowed, and tried to step back – not to run away, she never ran away, she just regrouped and hit harder for it, in the long run – but found herself stepping into Aradia, who was suddenly behind her, folding her arms on her shoulders, leaning to press her chin to hers, bloodied and slick. “What the—“ 

“Says me,” Aradia whispered, pressing the faintest kiss to Vriska’s cheek. And then she glided back, weightless, and flung an arm carelessly to the side. Vriska found herself following the arc of the movement without any say in the matter, until she slammed into a wall – dark, so dark it didn’t really seem to be there, but it had to be, she’d felt her bones creak with the force of impact – wheezing. “I’ve done all that was asked of me, Vriska. Everything, from the biggest to the smallest task. I obeyed. It is done, now, from your perspective, it has been done for more than a thousand sweeps, but for me that was seconds ago. It doesn’t matter, though, because it’s _done_.” Her eyes flickered, from red to black to white – alive to mad to dead – back and forth, unstable. “Everything I do, from this moment on, I do it for myself. I do it because it’s right and for the best, but also because it’s what I damn well want it to be.” 

Vriska threw her mind at Aradia, on reflex. She shouldn’t have, of course, she knew better than that. She’d never been able to touch the damn girl, either because she was too strong or later on, because there was some kind of damper around her skull that kept Vriska from sinking her teeth in and tearing off a chunk just for fun. But it was reflexive, by then, her ace in the hole, her trump card, no matter the odds. She threw herself at Aradia’s mind, knowing full well she couldn’t take on her otherwise, but rather than sliding off, like she’d had, before, Aradia opened her mind to her. 

She opened her madness, writhing and terrible and _purposeful_ , every secret unveiled before Vriska, every truth offered in a platter. 

Vriska screamed and felt she was going a little mad, herself. 

…a lot mad, actually. 

Through the fog of screaming in her mind, she heard Aradia’s voice, musical and clear. 

“I let you live,” Aradia said, smile sharpening. She let out a loud sigh, letting the anger flare in her gut, the fury festering and building on for eons; she let it all loose at once. Reality writhed in recoil as her body shifted, distorted, almost giving out under the onslaught. “I let you live,” Aradia insisted, shaking. “You killed me, and I let you _live_.” 

Vriska shrieked, feeling darkness gather within her, threatening to burst through. 

“I let you be, to grow and learn and live on your own.” Aradia narrowed her eyes, growling. “And all you did was stay the same, stagnating on petty spite and an inflated sense of self-importance. I let you go, because I wanted to see what you’d do, I wanted to _understand_.” Aradia fell silent, and Vriska caught her breath, as the pain receded for a moment. “I could never understand you, you know?” She smiled, tone almost light and conversational. Vriska shrieked again as it felt like something was trying to claw its way from the inside out. “You had so much to give, so much potential to unleash, and you squandered it all away on yourself, hoarding all your gifts. Do you understand who I am? Do you understand what I’ve seen and done? What it means for me to say you’ve got potential? You could have changed the world, if you cared to. You could have done so many great, wonderful things,” Aradia’s expression darkened, “if only you weren’t you.” 

Vriska leaned against the solid darkness behind her, holding herself up, and smirked. 

“If you mean to kill me, Megido, just get on with it,” she spat to the side, hair in disarray, falling over her eye, “but spare me the goddamn lecture.” Despite it all, Vriska’s smirk widened as she clutched her sides, ignoring the agony throbbing under her skin. “C’mon, all this production to kill me, you’re not getting cold feet, now, are you?” 

Aradia stared for a moment, and then laughed, loud and shrill, and the darkness rolled back into her, burrowing deep under her skin, pulsing along her veins. Vriska stumbled to keep herself upright, as the pressure on her body and her mind halted abruptly. 

“Do you really think I’m doing all this, just to kill you?” Aradia sneered, the sneer of a thousand Handmaids folded into one. “Don’t overestimate your importance, Vriska.” Aradia giggled a terrifying high-pitched sound. “Then again, that’s all you really know how to do, isn’t it?” 

“I killed you,” Vriska snarled, “I watched you die, I wanted you gone and you _were_. That you’re too fucking stupid to stay dead doesn’t change that fact. Don’t dress up your spite as something nobler, Megido, that’s just cheap, even for you.” She wiped the wetness of her chin, refusing to acknowledge it as blood. “If you want to kill me, then kill me, square away the debt and let this bullshit drop.” 

Aradia shook her head, almost sad. 

“I’m many, many things, Vriska,” she said, slowly walking up to her, smirking as Vriska pressed herself back against the wall that was suddenly at her back. “I will become so many more things still!” Aradia’s expression lost all its cheer, fake and otherwise, abruptly. “But I’m not a murderer. I’m not like you.” 

“Damn right you’re not like me!” Vriska snarled, feeling her vision swim with pain, “you don’t have the guts to do it.” She spat on Aradia’s face. “I _killed_ you, you stupid, stupid _bitch_ , don’t tell me you’re going to try to go for magnanimous forgiveness now, to try and hide how much of a coward you really are.” 

Aradia wiped her cheek and gathered darkness into her right hand, expression unmovable as she slammed it into Vriska’s gut, sinking deep beyond flesh and bone. 

“I’m not a murderer,” Aradia whispered, eyes cruel, “but I will make you pay, for everything you owe, to me and everyone you’ve ever met, for everything you’ve been too proud to apologize for, or too arrogant to even realize. It’s not _fair_ , for you to walk away now, to be forgiven here too. So I’ll make you pay, for this world, and for all the other worlds, where you didn’t.” 

Time slowed down until all Vriska could hear was the sound of her own ragged breathing. The pain was gone, the agony threatening to melt her bones and let them wash away down her veins; it left behind a hollow echo that was soon filled up with fear. Vriska knew fear very well, but she’d made it her life’s work to be on the inflicting side of the equation, rather than the receiving end of it. The fear that consumed her was raw, animal fright, a baser part of her mind screeching and reeling back from the realization of what it was up against, refusing to let her rationality control it anymore. 

And then Aradia twisted her hand, and something inside Vriska _changed_. 

For a moment the world lit up behind her eyelids; for a moment she was one with the universe. She knew everything worth knowing, could do anything she dreamt of. The threads that bound everything together were glimmering before her, forming webs that spread out beyond her understanding. 

And then Aradia yanked her hand away, and the world was dark and duller than Vriska remembered it being, and she felt a stranger in her own bones. 

“The funny thing is,” Aradia mused, “you _were_ important. You were one of the most important people in the whole wide universe. In this and many, many other universes.” On her palm, a pulse of light glowed like a heartbeat, caged in the darkness flowing from her skin. “I’m not going to kill you,” Aradia said, “I decided that when I took that arm and that eye, and convinced you Terezi had somehow done it instead.” Vriska made a wounded noise in the back of her throat, too feral for words. “Keep your life, Vriska Serket, this is my revenge, this is the one that pays for all.” Aradia crushed the light and Vriska felt something inside her shatter, something that would never be whole again. The light scattered into flakes of glitter, swept away to a place Vriska would never reach, because it wasn’t hers anymore. “You’re irrelevant now, utterly and completely worthless in the grand scale of things. So go on, survive. Die. It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

Vriska slid down to her knees, digging her own claws into her chest, tearing at her clothes, trying to find the hole in her body to echo the gaping chasm in her soul. 

“You must understand,” Aradia added, amused, “it didn’t _have_ to be this way. It is this way because I wanted it to be, because I _made_ it be this way.” She grinned. “Not, mind, that this is what I’ve been working for, for so long. Gods, no.” Aradia laughed at the absurdity of the notion, but Vriska was not really listening anymore, staring at her hands and trying to understand what had been done to her. “You’re just the warmup, for the main event.” 

And then she was gone, melting through the cracks in reality without looking back, and Vriska was left sitting on the floor of an empty ship in the middle of nowhere, alone. 

  


* * *

  


“I’m not talking to you.” 

Eridan sighed, head tilted to the side as he followed Shaula’s brisk steps down the wide street. It was nothing like the Festival of Light, with none of the luxury and extravagance, but it was still alien and new, and for all he tried to keep up with her, Eridan found himself getting sidetracked by this and that. 

“You do realize,” he mused, “that in telling me that, you’re kind of talking to me, right?” He looked over at Camila, who walked behind them at a leisure pace and arched an eyebrow. “She gets that, right? Do _you_ get that?” 

“I’m not getting involved,” Camila mused, shrugging, then grinned. “’cause if I do, you know who I’m gutting to settle things.” 

Eridan made a face. 

“Is gutting the standard Subjugglator answer to everything?” 

“Sometimes we skin people alive, just for variety’s sake,” Camila replied, with a straight face that made Eridan grimace. 

“Sha, tell your Nun to stop fucking leering at me,” he said, hurrying along to catch up with the blueblood. “It’s creepy as fuck all.” 

“I’d say good, you deserve it,” Shaula said, scoffing and pointedly looking away. “But I’m not talking to you.” 

“You so totally are talking to me,” Eridan whined, falling into step with her and nimbly dodging the elbow aimed at his gut. “C’mon.” 

“You shot a god, Eridan,” Shaula said, stopping so abruptly, Camila nearly walked into her. “Not just any god, _my_ god. Fuck you.” 

“Yes, granted, but it was god that picked a fight with Harlow and Sinann,” Eridan pointed out, one eyebrow arched. “And that… trust me, _that_ , that would be _bad_.” He leaned in a little. “Cosmically, terribly bad, okay. Like, for anything living anywhere in the whole damn universe.” 

“My. God.” Shaula insisted, petulant. “The god I’m sworn to serve for the rest of my life. The god I literally owe my life to.” She huffed. “You _shot_ her.” 

“It was an _eye_ ,” Eridan muttered sullenly, rolling his own with flourish. “For all you know it’ll just fucking grow back. No big deal.” 

Shaula made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat and contented herself strangling air, mostly because he was offensively tall and she couldn’t quite reach his neck to wring it like she wanted to. Camila snorted under her breath and shrugged when Shaula gave her a dirty look. 

“I can’t even _deal_ with you right now,” Shaula snarled, twitching in outrage. 

“Then what am I even doing here?” Eridan whined, rolling his eye hard enough it almost made a sound. “You could have just let me stay in the ship, instead of dragging me along to… say,” he blinked. “What are we doing, exactly?” 

“Refueling,” Shaula snapped, with an eyeroll of her own, “and you’re here, because I’m annoyed at you. So even if I’m not talking to you, I’m still gonna make you do the dirty work.” She smirked. “I’m your Captain, after all.” 

“Like I could forget,” Eridan snorted, and then dodged nimbly as Camila nearly smacked him upside the head. He glared. “Hey! I thought you weren’t taking sides!” 

“Did I say that?” The Nun wondered absently, expression mock innocent. 

“Yes, you did!” Eridan growled, eying her suspiciously. “Gutting and skinning people, remember? Conversation just five seconds ago?” 

“Oh, right,” Camila grinned, “I lied.” She reached a hand and flicked her claws against Eridan’s forehead, _hard_. “Stop picking on the Captain, or I’ll start picking on you.” 

“But I—“ Eridan spluttered as Shaula looked smug and Camila glowered quietly. “But she—But. _But!_ Man, _fuck_ all of you.” 

“You’re not that lucky, Douchefins,” Shaula snorted, wrapping an arm around one of his and dragging him along resolutely. “Almost pretty enough, what with the roguish Cyclops thing you’ve got going, but not quite.” 

“Seriously, fuck you both,” Eridan said, without great enthusiasm, “on a giant rusty spork.” 

“Quiet, you,” Shaula ordered impatiently, “we’re here.” 

Eridan looked at here and arched an eyebrow. He wasn’t quite sure what would constitute fuel for a whale – a fucking space whale, _seriously_ – but the building before them wasn’t exactly promising. It looked more like an arena, than anything else. There were a lot of aliens around, though, most of them the same brown, rocky kind that Eridan surmised were native to the planet. 

“And here is…?” He prompted, when Shaula walked briskly through the tall, wide doors, without offering further comment. 

“Slave market,” Shaula offered simply, smirking as an imposing, important looking alien approached and said something Eridan couldn’t understand. 

“…did she just—“ 

“Yes,” Camila grinned, amused by his expression. 

“Do I even want to know what slaves have to do with refueling the goddamn ship?” Eridan wondered, frowning as Shaula got into a heated argument with the other creature. Or at least seemed to, he wasn’t quite sure what was going on anymore. 

“Probably not,” Camila snickered, “but you’re about to find out anyway.” 

Eridan sulked somewhat, contenting himself with glaring sullenly at everything around him. The great walls of the building rose behind a line of spiraling columns, with familiar symbols carved on the stone. He counted forty seven of them, all neat and precise, and found himself sneering, because there were no wings on the walls, no signs of Her anywhere. 

They would regret that, in time; that he knew for sure. 

Rows upon rows of slaves filled up the arena, organized in neat lines. On their skin, a mark had been seared into flesh, deep enough it’d scar and forever brand them no matter where they went. Other aliens – buyers and sellers alike – walked along the lines, examining them carefully, like cattle. Eridan found himself twitching somewhat in discomfort; slavery had not been a _thing_ in the Empire for many, many centuries, after Feferi took the crown. He had a hard time grasping how he felt about it, now, beyond the history and the traditions that he’d once known. And he found that, the longer he stayed with the Anansi crew, the more easily it came to him, to see a random collection of limbs and eyes and mouths, and see a person, rather than a monster. It was disconcerting, to say the least. 

“Alright!” Shaula said, as she approached them again, hands on her hips and smug smirk on her face. “All set.” 

“Did we have enough?” Camila asked, eyebrows arched as she nodded at the unending crowd of slaves all around them. 

“Kinda,” Shaula shrugged. “There’s some idol of something or another that no living creature has ever seen that they want to pay for the ones we can’t afford. You know, standard stuff.” She grinned. “You stay here and sort out logistics,” she added, nodding at Camila, “comb through them and sort out the ones that are useful, then get them all back to the ship. Tell Sydney to help you with the contracts and stuff. You,” she turned to Eridan, “you’re coming with me.” 

“I am?” Eridan found himself wondering, stupidly. 

“Oh yes,” Shaula’s grin got wide enough to make Eridan nervous, “yes, you are. We’re going on an _adventure_.” 

“…just for reference,” he said, as he let Shaula drag him along by an arm, “is this adventure gonna end up with me dead?” 

“Probably not,” she snorted, pulling until she could hook her arm on his, “but hey, if you survive it, I’ll forgive you for being a blasphemous, god-shooting asshat.” 

“ _Joy_.” 

  


* * *

  


Feferi stared at Garfit’s face with a mixture of uncomprehending surprise and dumbstruck horror. 

“What do you mean she’s _gone_?” Feferi demanded, tone a tad shriller than she’d have wanted. 

Garfit shook their head, gold trinkets jiggling as they did. They looked rather wary, Feferi noticed absently, not quite as smug as they’d always been, even in the face of adversity. Wary and worn, old beyond old age; she felt almost guilty, for keeping them alive. But in truth while her spite had died out a long time ago, she still needed them. Now, more than ever, with the Truvian mess gnawing at her heels and Gamzee pulling dumb stunts in the Fringe and just the constant pulse of dread in the pit of her gut; something terrible was coming, she knew, she just wasn’t sure _what_. But, she knew, she needed the Dragon in the Fringe to help her survive it. 

“I mean gone, My Lady,” Garfit said, shrugging delicately. “Utterly and completely gone. I have the entire crew of the _Acheron_ aboard the _Deathfowl_ ; they just… appeared out of nowhere, a few hours ago, confused and utterly terrified, but without any idea what might have happened. Their Captain was not with them, and Lord Captor has confirmed he can’t find the actual ship.” Garfit’s mouth hardened into a thin line. “Vriska Serket is gone.” 

“And you’re certain the Grand Highblood had nothing to do with this?” Feferi demanded, stomping on her worry and trying unsuccessfully to turn it into rage. 

She couldn’t, though. Not when Garfit was staring at her, earnest. They’d done many, many things that had upset her, over the centuries, but Garfit Imoogi had held true to their word and never lied to her. No matter how much she’d wished they would, sometimes, they always spoke the truth. The truth made her ribs feel hollow, at the moment. 

“Fairly sure,” Garfit sighed, “I have men monitoring the movements of his fleet, he’s been stationary for the last few shifts, waiting for the last few ships to arrive. And…” They licked their lips. “And Makara might have the power to defeat a ship like the _Acheron_ , My Lady, but he doesn’t have the power to transport trolls like this. You and I both know who does.” 

“Aradia is dead,” Feferi said, tonelessly, “the Handmaid is no more.” 

“Then we have a problem,” Garfit said, politely ignoring the tears lodged somewhere up Feferi’s throat. “Because there’s someone out there who might rival her in power, then. When I say the entire crew, I do mean the entire crew, My Lady. Helmsmen, admins, soldiers. Every single troll, no matter how important or insignificant, no matter what they were doing at the time, or where. Whiskered away into the hangar of my ship in an instant. Someone with that power is not someone to be trifled with.” 

“I understand,” Feferi said after a moment, even though she truly didn’t. “What are you planning to do now?” 

Garfit smiled politely, and it made them look ancient beyond words. 

“Whatever my Empress commands me,” they said, bowing their head graciously, “considering the magnitude of the incident and those involved, I thought best to wait for an explicit command, lest I made the situation worse.” They arched both eyebrows, wording the offer very carefully. “Should I send a scouting party out to try and find the _Acheron_?” 

“No,” Feferi said, lips pressed into a tight line, “I’ll send Terezi herself to do it.” She smiled sadly. “She’s always been the best at finding Vriska, especially when Vriska did not want to be found.” Feferi smiled thinly. “Continue keeping an eye on Gamzee and inform me if the situation changes any.” 

“As My Lady commands,” Garfit said, bowing again, “it shall be done.” 

Feferi watched the screen go dark and felt herself sag into her chair. She wanted to put her face in her hands and cry. She wanted to scream and break things. She could do neither. So she pushed herself upright and headed out to the audience hall to entertain her court and tend to the Empire she’d so desperately wished for, when she was young and stupid and knew no better. 

After all, there was no one else to do it, but her. 

  


* * *

  


“…what’s going on?” Camila asked, staring at the scene that greeted her in the bridge. 

Sitting on the floor, between the Captain’s chair and the rest of the crew’s seats, the crew plus Sinann and Harlow were… weaving bead bracelets. Well, everyone but Harlow, at least, who sat on a console and studied the whole scene with the same bored look he gave everything and everyone. Camila was mildly impressed to see even Ehduveeges going at it, sulking in a corner and forcing his fingers to be delicate with the string and the beads. Though admittedly that might have something to do with Sydney beaming proudly at him every time he looped another bead into place, than any real willingness to partake in the activity. 

“We’re making stuff!” Sinann announced proudly, grinning up at Camila with wide, content eyes. “It was Harlow’s idea.” 

“No,” Harlow muttered dejectedly, “it was an ill-timed sarcastic quip, not a bloody suggestion.” 

“You had _orders_ ,” Camila said, glowering at the crew that took great pains not to look at her in the eye. “Captain’s orders.” 

“They were pretty fucking stupid orders, though,” Harlow mused, leaning back with a smirk. “Granted, this isn’t what I had in mind when I said we should skip the unpleasant tediousness and get to the point where they couldn’t complete their orders, but the spirit’s the same.” 

“Realistically speaking,” Lazuli ventured, “our chances of success were essentially zero from the start. One cannot argue against reasonable efficiency.” 

“Reasonable efficiency,” Camila repeated, twitching. 

Lazuli shrugged and went back to weaving in perfectly neat rows. 

“You know the Captain didn’t really mean to,” Sydney offered, looking hopeful and pitiful like a meek puppy. Camila went on twitching, so he added: “She did say try, after all.” 

“Where’sss the harm?” Nico hissed, grin showing off his needle-like teeth as he raised the bracelets decorating his wrists proudly. “The Captain’ll have a good laugh, when all isss sssaid and done.” 

“I made you one,” Sinann said, just to let Camila she was well and truly outclassed, offering a long rope of beads – most of them shades of purple, at that – that Camila was presumably supposed to wear around her wrist. “Since you weren’t here and it didn’t seem right that everyone got one but you.” Sinann brightened even more. “And one for the Captain, too. So she’s not left out either.” 

Camila contemplated the very real possibility of sacrificing the whole heathen bunch to the altar of the Messiahs, with emphasis on bloody displays. Maybe make herself a rosary out of their bones, see how well they liked their arts and crafts _then_. But to lose even a member of her crew would make Shaula miserable and very possibly drive her to tears and between a sobbing Serket and a bunch of unrepentant assholes, Camila knew which one she could survive. 

“Whatever,” she said, acknowledging defeat with a shrug and a sigh, “play time’s over. New orders, notice the very precise way I don’t say try,” she added, giving Sydney a halfhearted glare at best. 

“Technically, you just did,” Lazuli said quietly, but put down her bracelet to listen anyway. 

“We’ve got a pretty decent haul, this time around,” Camila went on, ignoring the interruption, “four thousand and change. So go get them sorted out, while the Captain and Eridan are out finishing sorting out payment.” 

“Four thousand _what_?” Sinann asked, fins dropping back as she tilted her head inquisitively. 

“Souls,” Camila answered, smirking. “The Captain bought the entire stock at the slave market.” 

Harlow whistled, reluctantly impressed. 

  


* * *

  


“…and just how did I end up like this?” 

Eridan stared at Shaula, scowling as he swung back and forth from the ceiling, ankle caught in some sort of rope. He should probably be a lot more worried about the seemingly endless pit below him, but he was trying to take things one at the time, and at the moment, being annoyed at Shaula seemed a lot more productive than flailing and screeching about the wholly undignified mess he’d landed in. So he swung there, upside down, arms folded over his chest and expression the very soul of deadpan frustration, left eyebrow twitching slightly above – below? – the eye patch. 

“It’s just your standard trap,” Shaula said, nonchalant, “I guess some things truly are universal, after all.” She arched an eyebrow at him, amused. “Besides you’re alive, aren’t you? You should be grateful; these things tend to get quite ugly, most of my trap bait almost always dies about a quarter into any given ruin. You’re doing very well for a first timer.” 

“Trap bait,” Eridan deadpanned, eye narrowing, if possible, even more. 

“Well d’uh,” Shaula snorted, turning back to study the inscriptions on the wall, “why else would I drag magicless deadweight like you around if not for trap bait?” 

“ _Trap bait_ ,” Eridan insisted, glowering in a way that’d have been rather threatening, had he been facing right side up. 

“Blasphemous, god-shooting trap bait,” Shaula corrected absently, tapping a finger along the wall, “hang on, I think I’ve got it.” Eridan groaned at the pun, but she turned to him with a wide, confident grin. “This should get you down. Probably. That or kill you horribly, technically, but don’t worry! I’m a professional.” 

“Oh wow, that’s about the least reassuring thing you’ve said all day,” Eridan said, squirming, “and that includes the bit with the flesh eating vermin _things_.” 

“Oh don’t be such a crybaby, they didn’t even eat through your skin,” Shaula rolled her eyes and raised her hands, concentrating. 

“Flesh eating vermin!” Eridan hissed, not quite as deadpan as light began to gather at her fingertips. “…Sha? Shaula.” 

“Hush now,” she whispered, “Flare is not one of my strongest specialties. I need to concentrate.” 

“If I die, I’m going to be so pissed at you,” Eridan muttered, swallowing hard as the light intensified and the sigil appeared in a circle below her, a lot less bright than her trademark Light one. “Just so you know.” 

“Duly noted,” Shaula replied, pulling back a hand as if cocking an arrow in a bow, the light becoming a thin shaft between her fingers. “Here goes!” 

The light burst into flame as she released the spell, hurling itself straight at the large jewel on the ceiling. It hit it and dissipated at once. A grand total of nothing happened. 

“Well, that was impressive,” Eridan said, sarcastic. 

“…oh,” Shaula muttered after a moment, frowning as she studied the carvings again. “Uh huh.” 

“Don’t say that,” Eridan snarled sternly, “that’s the worst fucking thing you can say at a time like thi–eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!” 

The rope holding him in place vanished into nothing and he hurled down the pit with a high pitched shriek. 

“My bad!” Shaula giggled wryly, “it was Frost _then_ Flare. Oops.” 

Deep into the bowels of the earth, Eridan groaned and regretted each and every choice he’d made in his life. 

  


* * *

  


Karkat walked down the corridor with brisk, determined steps, ignoring the trolls that scurried out of his way as he passed. He’d never been the most physically intimidating of all the trolls, since nearly every other troll he’d ever met dwarfed him with ease, but centuries of practice had taught him how to turn his weaknesses into strengths that made the entire Empire cower at his feet. He would have wanted to speak with Feferi right away, but Wukong had given him a look that reminded him that not all trolls were rightfully terrified of him, and he conceded the point sourly, using the annoyance at the delay to make himself seem larger as he sought out the other _reliable_ source of information aboard the flagship, since Sollux was bound to take a few hours to crawl out of his core still. 

Arthur was alone in the training hall, short swords in his hands as he went through the motions with practiced ease. He was one of the very few Lords in the Empire who attended to his training assiduously, even in the face of overwhelming schedules and all-consuming tasks for his Empress. Unlike most Lords, however, Arthur didn’t hold any official title at all, for all he’d made himself indispensable to the Empress. He was revered as a Lord, given respect and fear like any other – probably more than many others, if Karkat was really truthful – but he never called himself that. And Karkat knew why he made such a point to preserve his strength, like only soldiers ever did. 

“I take it you’ve heard the news,” Karkat offered as a greeting, entering the block and relaxing his stand somewhat, as he found no one in it he had to play a part for. 

“It’s only news if one hasn’t heard about them,” Arthur replied, lowering his weapons with a wry smirk. “At this point, I’d say they’re olds, rather. I do wonder, why do we call news news, instead of having an actual word for it. There used to be one, I reckon, but it fell in disuse some millennia before Feferi’s rise to power.” 

Karkat arched an eyebrow. 

“Really?” He said, voice dry. “We’re gonna do this? The fucking lecture on grammar and language?” 

“I’m an old fool, Karkat,” Arthur replied, grinning without it even reaching his eyes, “entertaining people and finding silly ways for them to waste their time is all I do, these days.” 

Karkat snorted very pointedly at that, and then sighed loudly. 

“Care for a spar, then?” He offered, pulling his sickles into his hands, “to entertain ourselves?” 

Arthur shrugged, swinging the swords as he rolled his wrists playfully. 

“Oooh, I shall be honored to keep Lord Vantas humble,” Arthur taunted, even as he bowed low in a mock servile fashion. 

“Go ahead,” Karkat scowled, shaking his head. “But when you’re Lord Imoogi, I’ll be the one keeping you humble, you absolute fucking _twat_.” 

Only quick reflexes and the fact Arthur did not truly want him dead kept Karkat from getting split open like a gutted fish, as he barely stepped back to avoid the blade and it cut through cloth rather than flesh. Arthur’s eye glinted menacingly at him, over his shoulder, but when he stepped back into a waiting stance, he was smiling that dull-witted smile again. 

“My sincerest apologies, Lord Vantas, had we not already begun?” Arthur’s grin widened as he shrugged. “Silly, silly me. Oh, won’t you forgive me?” 

Karkat snarled in mild frustration. He’d like that shirt, after all, and now he was going to have to walk all the way back to his ship in torn clothes. But he’d long resigned himself that it was impossible to talk with Arthur without losing a little bit of dignity in the process, and that was miles better for him, than for people who Arthur truly didn’t like. They lost fleshy bits, instead. Karkat snorted and swung the sickles with a smirk. 

“I’ll forgive you when you stop pretending Garfit will live forever,” he said, one eyebrow arched as Arthur’s cheerful mask slipped for a second into a snarl, “future Lord Imoogi.” 

Karkat scrambled to block the incoming slashes, focusing on dodging and deflecting, but still ended up losing a sleeve in the process. 

“Truly, did you come here just to enjoy my company, Karkat?” Arthur asked idly, smile sharp. “How humbled I am.” 

“You know how it is,” Karkat managed, snorting, “it’s not like you’d know anything about Gamzee or Vriska or Terezi for that matter.” 

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Arthur nodded, gracefully avoiding a sickle to the face, “I am not a Lord and only Lords know that Lady Pyrope has been tasked with finding Lady Serket, after she disappeared while investigating Lord Makara’s recent activities.” Arthur’s expression turned sharp, as he kept the battle in very close quarters. “Of course Lords don’t know both Lord Imoogi, long may they live, and Lord Captor agree it was most certainly a Handmaid’s work, that made Lady Serket disappear. The Empress tolerates no silly rumors like that among her Lords.” 

But of course, Arthur Imoogi was not a Lord. Nor was he a Helmsman, after whatever happened to him in Alternia, the fateful night Gl’bgolyb died, that stole away his psionics. He was a seadweller, in an Empire where seadwellers were no longer entitled to royalty simply for existing. And he’d forsaken his name, when his brothers still lived, and now that they were gone and there was no one else to continue his Ancestor’s legacy, he still refused to take it back. 

Karkat didn’t presume to understand why Arthur did what he did, but he wasn’t above taking advantage of it. After all, he was second only to Sollux, as far as knowledge went, and he was rather gleeful about sharing that knowledge to a select few that Karkat was glad to count himself among. Considering how rotten things were going lately, he wanted to have all the knowledge possible, before he approached Feferi and tried to offer support. 

So he sparred with Arthur, losing bits and pieces of his clothes as he did, and hoarded all those ‘rumors’ the seadweller knew, like the pieces of a puzzle he had to solve on his own. 

  


* * *

  


“Aww, man, that’s just not _fair_.” 

Shaula sat down with a thump, as the last of the golems fell. She was panting harshly, sweat running down her face, as she leaned back and stared at the impressive wall before them. Eridan, more than a little winded himself, found himself swaying a little as he held his rifle in a loose hand. After a few mishaps, they’d picked up the pace, clearing out traps and slowly advancing deeper into the ruins. It baffled Eridan, somewhat; the bizarre arrangements made to keep their prize safe and untouched. The more time he spent trailing after Shaula and walking into traps under her orders, the more he became convinced that perhaps whatever was sealed away behind so many dangers was sealed for a reason. But up to that point, Shaula had been determined and unmovable, pushing forward with a stubborn single-mindedness that Eridan would have admired, if he wasn’t at its mercy. 

“Giving up, are we?” He taunted, just because teasing Shaula was his last comfort left, after so many falls and tumbles and misfired spells. 

“No,” Shaula snorted and lay back, “but we’re done for today.” 

Eridan stopped smirking. 

“What.” 

“Look at that thing!” Shaula snarled, nodding over at the wall. “You’d need all forty six aspects to pry that thing open, if you follow the rules. And I’m good, seriously, honestly, I am, but even that’s a bit too much for me, especially after running the gauntlet like that.” She scoffed. “I mean, I could bank on my luck and try to blast it open by force, but that’d leave me well and truly drained and playing all your cards at once is just _stupid_. I’m taking a nap.” 

“A nap,” Eridan repeated, disbelief coloring his voice, just as Shaula shifted about, trying to find a comfortable spot to lie on. 

“Magic takes a lot out of someone, you know?” She gave him a dirty look. “Not that you’d know, you glorified paperweight, but I’m _tired_.” 

“You’re going to take a nap _here_?” He demanded, bristling somewhat. “After all that?” 

“Well, we can’t just go back empty handed, can we?” Shaula snorted. “Make yourself useful and keep watch while I rest a little. I’ll figure something out when I wake up.” 

Eridan studied her for a moment, then turned to look over at the wall, covered up in all sorts of symbols and sigils, considering. 

“You said this was the last room,” he said, frowning. “That the idol is behind that wall.” 

“It should be,” Shaula yawned theatrically and curled up, head resting on her folded arm. “We’ll find out when I wake up.” 

“No.” 

“No?” Shaula looked at Eridan over her shoulder, puzzled expression on her face. She clearly wasn’t used to people she ordered around to say no to her. “What do you mean no?” 

“I mean _no_ , fuck that shit,” Eridan scowled. “We’re done and we’re leaving.” 

“I’m not leaving without the idol,” Shaula snarled dangerously, eyes narrowed. 

Eridan smiled at her, flinging the rifle back into his sylladex and holding up a hand, palm side up. 

“I never said anything about that,” he said, one eyebrow arched. “It’s just that wall, right?” 

“What are you—“ 

“It’s fairly early to do this, so I probably shouldn’t,” he said, wry, as white, blinding light gathered above his palm, pulsing into the shape of a wand, “but I might legitimately kill _myself_ if I spend another five minutes in this fucking place. And that’s _really_ not part of the plan.” 

The light was nothing like Shaula had ever seen before. It was viciously bright, the sort that hurt to look at but one couldn’t bear to lose sight of. It pulsed as the wand floated above Eridan’s hand, and the air hummed with power, not unlike magic. Eridan tilted his hand up a little, and the wand spun upwards, lengthening and thickening, until it was clearly not a wand anymore, but a pole zigzagging near one tip. He reached out to grab it, and it solidified into white metal, gleaming as from the crooked side a blade curved out, made out of pure white light, until the wand became a scythe. 

“Just don’t tell Harlow I messed up his painstaking fucking script,” Eridan said, body outlined that same vicious white as the light spread out from the weapon up his arm like miasma. “He’ll never shut the fuck up about it.” 

Before Shaula could say anything, Eridan pointed the scythe at the wall and the light intensified until it was blinding. Below him, the same golden, winged sigil from before appeared, surrounded by a circle of crisscrossing lines, like the magic circles Shaula knew and used. But it spread out wide, until it encompassed the entire floor of the room, far larger than anything Shaula had ever seen before. It was said that the size and brightness of the circle reflected the strength of the spell being cast, and the knowledge sat uncomfortably in Shaula’s gut. Tiny specks of light spread out from the scythe, floating up and growing into smaller circles, all with the same winged design inside. 

And then they _changed_. 

Shaula stared in wonder and just a tiny bit of fear, as the circles changed color and shape, becoming familiar pulses of magic. Which was impossible, one aspect couldn’t become another, just like one Witch did not have precedence over another. It was impossible, but it was happening right before her eyes as she stood up slowly, watching the circles melt into the wall and lighting up the corresponding stones along the complex design. The light died out slowly fading into nothing, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then the wall rumbled and crisscrossing lines of light appeared and opened up as it became a doorway into a modest, shadowed chamber where the idol sat, waiting in a pedestal at the center. 

Eridan braced his weight on the scythe, hissing in pain as he swayed, fighting to remain upright. 

“Eridan!” Shaula scrambled up to help him upright, wrapping an arm around his back. 

“Too early,” he chuckled, leaning gratefully on her as blood dripped down from under the eye patch, like a mockery of tears. “So much for magicless deadweight, huh?” 

“Still a blasphemous, god-shooting asshat, though,” Shaula replied automatically, expression wry. Then frowned, worried. “What the fuck was that, Douchefins?” 

“Something really stupid and impulsive that we’re absolutely not going to tell Harlow about, because then we’ll both be dead,” Eridan chuckled, breathless, then found his footing properly and stepped back, still clutching the scythe with white knuckles. “Seriously, not a fucking word.” 

He offered Shaula a wry smirk as the scythe melted back into white light, shrinking until it was just a wand again. It vanished back into the depths of his sylladex, all but purring in content, echoing the dull throbbing beneath the eye patch. He wiped off the blood with an annoyed, half-hearted gesture, smearing it down his cheek as he did. 

“…why would Harlow kill _me_ because _you_ did something stupid that you shouldn’t?” Shaula asked, priorities as sharp as ever, and reluctantly released her grip on his arm. 

“Because Harlow is an absolute bastard and he really doesn’t like you,” Eridan deadpanned with a tiny shrug, letting his arms hang loosely at his sides. 

“Fair enough,” Shaula nodded, not particularly torn up about that knowledge. She narrowed her eyes. “You still haven’t told me what the fuck just happened, though.” 

Eridan smirked, pressing a hand on the eye patch as he clicked his tongue. 

“Tell me what you need the slaves for and I’ll tell you,” he said, expression taunting, clearly not expecting Shaula to laugh. 

“Your secrets sell cheap, Douchefins,” she said, as she tugged down the neckline of her shirt sharply, baring most of her chest to his eye, “just so you know.” 

The witty retort died in his throat and never made it to his lips. 

  


* * *

  


“We will not see each other again, until it’s well underway,” Gamzee said, sitting on his haunches as he studied the troll sprawled comfortably in the various cushions and pillows scattered on the floor. “The End, I mean. It’s happening.” 

Nepeta stretched, arching her back before leaning on her elbows, watching him warily. He’d locked himself up in his quarters, after sending out word for all his faithful to gather, and she wasn’t willing to admit that this time it had actually taken some real effort to sneak past his troops to see him. He was clean and washed, hair falling loose down his shoulders and face free of paint for once. He looked very different that way, stripped of the clothes of his office. But where others might feel bare, without their usual armor, Gamzee looked smug and content, looking at her with amusement that sent a pulse of hate coursing through her veins. 

“That’s assuming we’ll see each other again at all,” she purred, eyes narrowed, “and that I won’t murder you for treason, right here and now.” 

“Aww, don’t be like that, kitten,” he replied, chuckling low in his throat, as he leaned in to brush his lips on the space between her shoulder blades, “I be knowing a sister much better than that, by now.” He grinned as he bit her, soft enough to not break skin but hard enough to make her want him to. It made her toes curl a little. “You ain’t one to cut the chase short when the game’s still fun.” 

“That’s assuming I find your games fun,” Nepeta retorted, turning around as he loomed above her, to lie on her back. She snorted, when he leaned in to nuzzle her breasts, even as she found herself digging her claws through his hair. It was shiny and smooth, for once, without crusted blood and dirt stuck along the strands. “Maybe I don’t think you’re all that fun anymore.” 

“Lies,” Gamzee breathed the words against her throat, shifting until he was crouched around her, crowding her with his size alone. “Filthy motherfucking lies. I’m the best fucking hunt you’ve ever had.” 

“I wonder about that,” Nepeta muttered, pushing his head away to give herself some space to breathe some air, rather than a mouthful of hair. “You’re not dumb enough to think I won’t kill you, if you do something stupid enough to warrant it.” 

“So mean,” Gamzee crooned, taunting, as he lay on his side, curled up around her. He smirked, when she shifted and leaned her back against his chest, head pillowed on his arm. “And here’s a brother all up and willing to give you a nice motherfucking treat, ‘cause he’s so fucking nice and all.” 

“Ha,” Nepeta laughed dryly, running her claws over the raised scars along his arms that she left there a lifetime or two before. “Nice.” 

“Go find Pyrope,” Gamzee said, no mirth in his voice. Nepeta looked over her shoulder to find his expression as serious as it ever got, made even more so by the lack of paint hiding his features. “Go find Pyrope,” Gamzee repeated. “If she dies, we’re all fucked. And that’s what you’re all and up supposed to be doing anyway.” 

“Why would Terezi die?” Nepeta asked, sitting up to glower at him properly. “What did you do?” 

“The world is Ending, kitten,” Gamzee chuckled, eyes vicious. “This and every other world. Lots of folks will die, when it comes to pass. And it’s happening, we’re making it happen, you and I and all the others. The Messiahs are coming. They might already be here, for all we know.” His expression sobered again, lips pressed tightly into something not quite a smile. “But if Pyrope dies, then we’ll _all_ die. So go find the dragon bitch and make sure she’s still breathing by the time we meet again.” 

“You do not command me,” Nepeta snarled, pulling away to stand, a feral growl folded into her voice. “I don’t take orders from you, or from anyone else.” 

“’s not an order,” Gamzee laughed, folding up an arm and resting his cheek on his hand, “it’s more like a warning.” He thought about the words for a moment, before he grinned. “Maybe a favor, then.” 

“And why the hell would I make you a favor?” Nepeta asked, frowning. 

She wasn’t about to let Terezi die, of course, and Gamzee had to know that. But he was up to something, and she didn’t like it. Not after Sollux had let her known Vriska was gone and that Terezi was out there, looking for her. Nepeta liked Terezi, she really did. She couldn’t care less if Vriska was dead or not, but Terezi dying – worse, Terezi dying because she was trying to save Vriska – that was unacceptable. 

“Because,” Gamzee said, smirking smugly, “nothing would make you happier than having me in your debt.” 

  


* * *

  


“79% of all life in the universe is carbon-based,” an obnoxiously cheerful voice droned out, words a little muffled by the bag in which Shaula had shoved the idol after the first six useless, bizarre facts it’d offered. “The Witch of Flood has an insatiable appetite for sweet foods.” 

“I’m starting to see why someone would seal away that fucking thing in the first place,” Eridan groused darkly, at Shaula’s right. 

“Just a little longer,” she promised, through there was a definite strain to her smile as she spoke and a minute twitch in her left eyebrow as the idol kept on rattling out minutia. “And then we’ll never have to hear this thing again.” 

“If that guy at the slave market doesn’t decide he doesn’t want it after all,” Eridan muttered snidely, as the idol pointed out the first species to ever achieve interstellar flight was called the Grauhkt. “What we’ll do then?” 

“Ruin his day,” Shaula snorted, resolutely walking forward along the pebbled road back towards the city. “Like, _seriously_ ruin his day.” 

“Amen to that,” Eridan muttered, rubbing the eye patch with the back of his hand. “I’ll even help, if you let me have a nap, first.” 

“There are only three known examples of mathematically perfect spheres in the universe,” the idol informed them helpfully. 

“Does it hurt?” Shaula asked warily. “Your—“ 

“’s okay,” Eridan smiled wryly. “I kinda overdid myself back there, it should be fine once I get some rest.” There was a pause, punctuated by the rumbling of his stomach. “And a meal. Definitely a meal, fuck, I’m starving.” 

“Camila should have finished refueling by now,” Shaula said, smirking in amusement, “so we’re definitely eating good tonight.” 

“Small mercies,” Eridan sighed. He stopped walking, staring at the horizon, beyond the rocky formation of the city in the valley. “Sha.” 

“Hmm?” 

“What’s that?” Eridan pointed at the sky, where dots of light were fast approaching their direction, melting into metal, egg-shaped objects. 

“The boiling point of any given substance varies depending on the atmospheric pressure it’s under,” the idol quipped. 

Shaula’s shoulders sagged as she groaned. 

“Remember how I said I’d forgive you for being a blasphemous, god-shooting asshat if you survived this whole find the local mythical lost treasure thing?” 

“Yeah,” Eridan tilted his head to the side, as a veritable fleet of tiny, glinting orbs crowded around them. 

“That doesn’t mean the rest of the Knights of Light have forgiven you,” Shaula explained, rubbing her face with a hand. She threw the bag containing the idol at Eridan, who caught with a blink. “Okay, stay back and don’t get killed.” 

“Wha—“ 

A ray of light shot down from one of the metal eggs, hitting the ground. When the light faded, a tall, muscled creature was standing there, wrapped in cloth and metal in the same hues that the Bard of Light called her own. It had two distinct heads, fused at the back, that Eridan was willing to admit was weird looking, even for an alien. 

And it had a sword, in one hand, the same sword all Knights had, orange and yellow. 

Eridan watched as it hissed something in a language he couldn’t understand, and frowned when Shaula called up her own sword out of nowhere, talking back in a tone Eridan thought sounded mocking. 

“The Laws of Magic and the Laws of Physics mirror each other, in both their principles and their prohibitions,” the idol offered, as Eridan winced once the swords clashed against each other. 

He stood there, holding onto the bag, not quite sure what to do. Shaula was holding her own very well, and he didn’t think he should intrude in a matter between Knights, but it was kind of his fault they were fighting, in the first place. He watched Shaula twist and turn, swinging that sword with practice ease, not like a weapon, but as an extension of herself. Eridan quietly admitted he was more impressed by her fighting skills than by her ruin-raiding talents. At least the fighting didn’t end up with him electrocuted or burned or frozen or falling down pits. 

The other guy wasn’t so shabby, either. 

“The secret behind a proper pakthee durk is to flash-freeze the meat before frying it.” 

Eridan frowned as the fight went on, the other eggs – which he surmised were ships – floated silently all around, waiting. Shaula was good, that was no doubt about that, but she was bound to be getting tired, particularly after the ordeal to get the bullshit sprouting idol of doom. And he wasn’t quite sure what’d happen, if she lost, except that he wasn’t going to let her die, because then the Anansi would die, and the crew would murder him. And then Harlow would really murder him, for wasting time and making a mess. 

He was debating whether to step in or not, when Shaula froze, mid swing. 

“Sha!” Eridan yelled, as she stood there, staring at nothing, as her opponent seized the chance and prepared to take advantage of the opening. 

Something pulsed, inside Shaula, not quite painful, but too strong to be ignored. And then she remembered where she was, what was happening, and raised her free hand in an instinctual attempt to stop the blow coming for her head. Light gathered around her, filling up her very being, as power coursed through her veins. She felt an impossible weight come crashing down her spine, at the same time a circle with the sigil of Light spread beneath her, at least twice as big as she remembered it being. In her hand, a second sword appeared, catching the incoming blade with ease. On instinct alone, she shifted her footing and sent the other flying to the side. 

She took a moment to take stock of herself and stared at the swords in her hands. They were the same design as all the other swords the Bard granted her Knights, but the blades in hers weren’t transparent anymore, instead gleaming a metallic, solid orange that seemed to hum with power. 

“Her Grace has made her choice,” she said, to herself first, then to the other knight, in his language. 

With a furious roar, it launched itself at her. 

  


* * *

  


Harlow studied the small alcove behind the bridge proper, where orbs of various colors and sizes were suspended in pillars of flesh. As each new passenger or crew member boarded the ship, a new orb appeared, and the ship itself purred in content, its magic stores replenished bit by bit. Harlow figured the orbs of those born under the Witches’ signs were colorful like gems, with the corresponding sigil adorning them, while those unlucky enough to be born under an errant aspect were rock-like stones. And of course, the size had to be a representation of each person’s magical capacity. He’d studied the whale and what the crew had said, before arriving to those conclusions, and while he had no confirmation, he had a feeling he was on the right track. More so because the three largest orbs were rock-like and dull, dwarfing all the others a good deal; and Harlow was almost certain those represented Eridan, Sinann and himself. He would have to ask Shaula to explain how it worked, and what happened to the people whose magic the Anansi consumed to sustain itself. 

At the very back of the alcove, a decent-sized orb glinted in orange and yellow, the sigil of Light gleaming beneath the surface. 

Under Harlow’s very eyes, the orb began to glow brightly as it swelled considerably, until it rivaled the other three in size. Harlow’s eyes narrowed as he smirked. So the little Handmaid had done her part, after all. He closed his eyes, feeling reality shift as it found its new anchor and recalibrated itself. He wondered if the Witches could feel it, and if they did, what they thought about it. 

“Atta girl,” he muttered, vaguely glad he’d decided not to murder Shaula on principle after all. 

Things were bound to start getting interesting soon enough. 

  


* * *

  


“Why would you _do_ that?” Shaula snarled, kicking Eridan’s ankle viciously. “What’s with you and shooting people you absolutely most certainly _shouldn’t_ shoot?” 

“He was going to stab you in the back!” Eridan defended himself, hopping back and trying to dodge the strike of her pointy toes. 

“Of course he was!” Shaula said, kicking the ground in absence of his legs, “that’s what Knights _do_. And once he tried _and_ failed, I was going to cut off his heads for good!” She glowered. “Now he’s gone and nursing an even bigger grudge, and that means he’s going to come after us at the worst possible time.” 

“Well fuck you too,” Eridan muttered morosely, “I was just trying to help.” 

“Only a Speaker may know the true name of the Witch they serve,” the idol concluded, in its cheerful, unwavering monotone. 

“I really can’t even _deal_ with you right now,” Shaula hissed, fingers twitching, but whether she meant Eridan or the idol, it was uncertain. 

  


* * *

  


“My most faithful brothers and sisters,” Gamzee boomed as he addressed the trolls gathered before him, “the time of the glorious reckoning is upon us!” 

Gamzee, in full Grand Highblood regalia, towered above the highest echelons of the faith with a smirk. Only the highest ranking Subjugglators were allowed to stand before him, while the rest of his flock listened avidly from the meeting halls in their own ships as a direct live feed was transmitting the sermon to all the other thousands of ships flocked around the _Messiah_. 

“For millennia we have waited, serving faithfully as we paved the way for them,” he snarled, eyes bright, “for millennia we alone were keepers of the secrets passed down along the prophecies of their arrival. And now the time is righteous and ripe, and the Messiahs loom above us as the world stands at the brink of destruction!” 

Someone yelled in agreement, a howl of mirthful delight lost somewhere in the sea of horns and painted faces all around him. Gamzee laughed a honking, macabre laugh, throwing his head back to let his entire body shake with vicious joy. 

“The Undying has sung the Song of Ages,” he said, all but purring the words. “The False Singer no longer taints this world with her poisonous madness. The Witches hide in their temples and brace themselves for the Great Undoing. All that is left, is the final cleansing of the filth that stains this world. The slaughter of the infidels who desecrate the glory of the Messiahs and their holy justice must come to pass, so that Rightful and Other, they may bless this rotten world.” 

He could see it, in the faces all around him, the fanatical delight as the implications of his words sank in. The murderous joy that lay naked before him made him nauseous and delighted, all at once. This is what they’d been waiting for, them and all the other ones before them, Gamzee knew. From the first acolyte that bent the knee and swore to follow his Ancestor and his teachings, all the Subjugglators ever wanted was to kill the unfaithful and paint a rainbow with their blood. Everything they’d done, pacifying the Empire and humoring the Empress, it was rooted in that truth. That when the time came, they would free themselves from pretenses and fall upon the ones that scorned the faith and teach them one final, bloody lesson. 

But Gamzee was not like them, he hadn’t joined the faith to sate the thirst for blood in his soul. Gamzee knew the Truth, which often contradicted all the truths that ruled the world, but was no less valuable because of it. Gamzee understood how it had to go, what needed to be done and why. And more than that, Gamzee had the strength to actually do it, with no remorse about the cost. 

He found himself giggling as his troops writhed in place with the excitement of the battle they yearned for, because they knew nothing and understood nothing. 

But no more. 

“Tonight,” he bellowed, eyes burning purple as he gathered his considerable strength and felt his horns hum with threat as bolts of light crackled and arched along their length, “the infidels die.” 

The _true_ infidels, Gamzee wanted to explain, the ones who claimed wisdom but had only perverted the Truth into convenient, worthless platitudes that suited their greed and their weaknesses. He acted instead, because it was blasphemous to explain the joke behind the greatest punchline in the world. He acted, throwing his chucklevoodoos at his so-called brethren, and laughed hysterically as they began to shriek in terror. His powers were like sharp claws that tore through their minds, ravaging everything in their wake and leaving behind a pulse of fear so pure and deep, their bodies collapsed under the strain. 

“There shall be Rebirth,” Gamzee cooed softly, to himself, his voice nearly drowned under the screams of anguish all around him, “and the way shall be paved with the blood of the infidels who in ignorance seek only death and destruction, without understanding what must necessarily come after.” 

It took hours, until the very last of them was gone. Glorious hours filled with the marvelous song of Death and Fear, but Gamzee did not waver, did not let himself feel weak, even as the task before him seemed unending. He pushed and _pushed_ , grinding down their smug, hateful minds into nothing under the weight of his power and his faith. And when he was done, he sat on the throne of his Ancestor and set himself to wait, for the Messiahs and their Witness, surrounded by a sea of blood and broken bones. 

The Subjugglators were no more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote at the beginning by Thomas Harris, from _The Silence of the Lambs._
> 
>  
> 
> [Askblog for this verse.](http://theroadtripfromhell.tumblr.com/)


	5. IV: The Emperor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **Notes from Fi:**_ Yay! Actual chapter! Oh, things are gonna get so fun, so soon~
> 
>  _ **Notes from Rie:**_ Oh, Equius, you don't even know what's coming your way, you poor, sad sod.

  


* * *

  


_Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved._

  


* * *

  


Equius swallowed hard as he watched the cruiser finish the last docking maneuvers, settling heavily in the hangar. He wasn’t a child, he told himself sternly, he should not be so nervous about something so stupid, but there was something in his gut that trembled at the thought of the woman lurking in that ship. Memories of those long, long sweeps under her thumb made him nauseous with fear, something he wasn’t really used to dealing with very often. He’d thought he’d seen the last of her, when he’d finally been allowed to escape her service and go back to Lord Imoogi’s care, enriched by knowledge of course, but also scarred by terror. 

Nonetheless, he buried his emotions deep into his gut and forced his face into the same empty mask he always wore, standing by patiently as the last details were dealt with. He was, after all, serving in Lord Imoogi’s name, he could not afford to disappoint them. 

After a length of time – which felt like forever and half, to Equius and the knot of nerves under his lungs – the gates opened and the rugs were rolled. He stood up straighter, as the large, fat woman stepped onto the ground daintily, her white dress rustling against the plush carpet under her feet. Equius swallowed hard and bowed down, the precise angle. She’d taught him that, he remembered a tad hysterically, when he’d lived in fear of her smiles. She’d been particularly fixated on making sure Equius grew out of his habit of groveling too much, bowing much too deeply and lessening the importance of his own post. It shamed him, and as a noble scion of the Empire, it shamed the Empire as a whole, as well. Equius swallowed hard, as she came to a stop before him, and very slowly raise himself to meet her eyes. 

“Lady Altair,” he said, voice even through sheer force of will, “Lord Imoogi is delighted to receive you aboard their ship. They humbly request you forgive them for not greeting you directly, I do hope I can be of assistance until they’re able to fully tend to your request, milady.” 

She smiled and something inside Equius quivered with feral fright. Then she reached out and hooked an arm with his, her hand heavy and a threat in itself on his elbow. 

“I am sure Lord Imoogi has their reasons to not be here, I would not be foolish enough to take offense over something so insignificant,” Lady Altair said, and then added, in an almost gentle tone: “And it has been long since we last had tea, hasn’t it, Lord Zahhak? I’m sure Lord Imoogi will not mind if we catch up somewhat, while they’re otherwise occupied.” 

Lady Aethos Altair, better known as the Eagle Lady, held dominion over the smallest sector of the Empire, the one right at the center, where Alternia was located. Equius had never figured out where the epithet came from, but after serving over a decade under her tutelage, he knew better than to ask. She was callous and ruthless and unflinchingly polite, hoarding knowledge and history in its most unaltered state. Under her watchful eye – and living in fear of her collection of blades and her proficiency at cutting _just_ so – Equius learned history, manners and most importantly, mastered the stylish, swirling script that only seadwellers Lords used. Lady Altair had not been particularly happy about that last bit, though Equius was hardpressed to remember any objections being voiced. She had made it perfectly clear to him that if she bothered to waste time on him, it was because Lord Imoogi had asked – ordered, perhaps? – and nothing more. She had been overly fond of reminding him she had promised to return him alive, to Lord Imoogi, but not whole. Equius fought back the urge to shiver as he lead her back into the quarters that had been prepared for her, not because he thought he was fooling her, but because she’d surgically cut out the urge for outward, obvious signs of fear out of him. She could smell fear, he was sure with hysterical certainty, and she delighted in that fear, more so when she was the source of it. 

“You have been tending to your letters, I hope,” she said, finally letting go of him to sit on the plush armchair by the table. “Have you finally stopped curling your ts like some sort of common landbred pretender?” 

Equius swallowed hard and focused on serving the tea, lest he crushed the china in his hands. The scars from that particular fuckup hadn’t wholly faded yet, despite two molts since then. 

“Lord Imoogi finds my performance acceptable,” he said, as politely as he could, placing the cup before her. 

“Garfit is a softhearted fool,” Lady Altair snorted, taking the tea and sniffing it consideringly. Equius swallowed hard and braced himself as she tasted it. She made no comment on it, though, which he took for encouragement, out of sheer self-preservation. “They can’t _not_ pamper their toys, and then they are surprised when they’re broken at the first rough handling.” 

He hated dancing with Lords and Ladies, more so because he was inherently at a disadvantage with his blood and his youth. None of the seadweller Lords – the ones who really mattered anyway – cared one bit about anyone who wasn’t a seadweller and predated the Empress’ rule. Nonetheless, he knew the steps, as much he hated them, and so he politely took his seat and set out to dodge the veritable handbombs that Lady Altair threw at him, woven in her words. 

Equius took a deep breath, promised himself an hour long conversation with Nepeta as soon as this was dealt with, and plunged into the metaphorical fire with his eyes wide open. 

  


* * *

  


“I will never shoot another Witch ever again, I swear,” Eridan whined, mock sobbing as he pulled on his controls until the _Anansi_ made a sound of protest. 

Outside, the enemy ships threw all their firepower at them; in some cases, their entire ships as well. Shaula, sitting on her throne, overlooked maneuvers with a mildly annoyed look on her face. She didn’t like space battles all that much, particularly when she wasn’t the one that started them. There was something terribly impersonal about it that didn’t sit well with her. She was all up for stabbing an asshole in the gut, and she’d certainly done her share of it in her centuries building up a name for herself. But there was no satisfaction in killing or beating an opponent, if you couldn’t see the realization in their faces, that they’d messed with someone stronger that they couldn’t measure up against. Besides, space battles drained the _Anansi_ ’s cores at an absurd rate and she wanted more from life, than being her ship’s glorified personal chef. 

“I want that in writing,” Shaula muttered snidely. “All stern, let Ed have a go at them.” 

“You would,” Eridan snorted, and complied, guiding the _Anansi_ to turn nearly on its side, so that Ed could unleash hell on their pursuers. 

Eridan personally thought Ed had entirely too much fun, whenever he got to shot obscene amounts of ships down. The wide, bloodthirsty grin was nightmare-inducing. 

“ _In blood_ ,” Shaula added, scoffing. “Lazuli, talk to me.” 

“We’re holding steady, Captain,” the tiny blue alien said, voice crisp, “but it would be on our best interests to cut this short. The Void Belt awaits.” 

“Yes, yes, _oooh_ , mystery and the unknown,” Shaula said, tone mocking. “So spooky.” 

“I like mystery and the unknown,” Sydney offered with a tiny, tentative smile. 

“I know _you_ do, that’s why you’re awesome,” Shaula mused, pausing enough to give the gentle giant a smile of her own, “but for everyone else, who’s a sourpuss party popper, you shouldn’t get your hopes up, it’s not that big of a deal.” 

“I’d disagree,” Lazuli muttered to no one in particular, “if I had any hopes that’d mean something to you.” 

“You kind of just did there, Laz,” Eridan said, snorting as he swerved dangerously. 

“It’s just a galaxy,” Shaula went on. “Ed, do try to actually hit them, please.” Ed grunted something rude under his breath and glared at Eridan like his trouble aiming properly was his fault. Which probably was, considering Eridan’s flight path was erratic as all hell. “I mean, decently sized and all, but still just a galaxy. Trolls are boring jerks, guys.” 

“ _You’re_ not boring,” Nico pointed out, snickering. 

“I notice how you didn’t feel the need to correct the second part of that statement,” Shaula snorted, glowering a little. “Thanks, Nico. Thanks a lot. I’ll be remembering this once your performance review comes around.” 

“Nico always tells the truth, Sha,” Eridan said, eyebrows arched as he pulled so hard on the controls he was essentially standing up, “and you are kind of a monumental jerk.” 

“Fuck you, Douchefins,” she retorted, transferring her glower to a more worthy target, “I’m not the _jerk_ who shoots _Gods_.” 

“Once, for crying out loud,” Eridan whined, scoffing and pulling three barrel rolls in a row. The _Anansi_ made a low noise of complaint. “Sorry there, Sir,” Eridan said apologetically, patting the console before him. “Anyway, it was just _once_ , can you fucking let it go now? It’s been _weeks_.” 

“No,” Shaula deadpanned, sneering. “At least not until people stop trying to _kill_ me because of it.” 

“Technically they’re not trying to kill _you_ ,” Lazuli corrected, “specifically. So it’s not quite right to blame Eridan for that.” 

“Thank you, Laz,” Eridan offered a nod that went ignored. 

“They’re trying to kill _him_ ,” she went on, shrugging her long, thin shoulders as she poked at her own terminal without looking at him. “If you want them to stop trying to kill you as collateral damage, all you have to do is throw him into the nearest star.” 

“You suck, Laz, you suck a lot,” Eridan glowered, sulking as he pulled another ill-advised stunt that made the _Anansi_ all but grumble in protest. 

“I am in fact physically incapable of such a thing,” Lazuli replied, perfectly straight-faced. “But I understand the sentiment, however poorly worded.” 

“We have company,” Harlow said, entering the bridge with Sinann in his arms, interrupting Eridan’s scathing retort. 

“Oh, so kind of you to notice,” Shaula deadpanned, “I hope we didn’t wake you up, what with the _battle_ and all?” 

“Not them,” Harlow snorted, rolling his eyes with a flourish. “Her.” 

He pointed at the main display that domed over the bridge like a window into the outside world. There were ships and stars and a whole lot of space all around them. Shaula was about to ask what the fuck he was going on about, when they saw it. More than that, they _felt_ it. A single point of lilac light burst into existence where Harlow was pointing, brightening into a blinding flash. When they could see again, and the shockwaves had passed, they realized they were alone: all the enemy ships had vanished into nothing in the wake of that light. Shaula whistled low as the rest of the crew tried to adjust to the abrupt end of the battle. The lilac glow dimmed and pulled itself together, before vanishing completely, as if it’d never been there before. 

“I reckon that’s another debt paid,” Harlow said, darkly amused as he gave Eridan an obnoxious smirk. “Don’t you?” 

“You know that thing I said about not shooting Witches?” Eridan said after a moment, lips twisted into a sulk as he looked purposely at Shaula and not at him. “That was an absolute lie, I’m going to shoot all those assholes at the first chance I get.” 

Harlow snorted. 

“The Void Belt awaits,” he said, turning his attention to Shaula, who was busy burying her face in her hands and regretting every choice since she’d met Eridan. “And then… home.” 

  


* * *

  


“She will be trouble, no doubt,” Garfit said, as they watched the Eagle Lady’s flagship, the _Demeter_ , prepare for FTL flight in the monitors of the bridge. 

Equius, who’d escaped the experience unscarred – and was deeply, deeply grateful for it – swallowed hard and said nothing. Lady Altair had annoyed Lord Imoogi, and Equius had gotten the dubious pleasure of watching the Peacock Lord unsheathe their claws. It was not an experience he cared to repeat. But he knew Lord Imoogi was right. 

After all, Lady Altair had come to the Fringe to demand answers as to the whereabouts of her moirail, who, like all the other Subjugglators in the Empire, had gone mysteriously quiet nearly a whole perigee prior. Equius had been told why – he’d felt sick enough nearly to retch, and only Lord Imoogi’s judging stare forced him to keep the bile down – but he also knew precious few had been trusted with that knowledge. The Grand Highblood had gone mad or rogue or both, and it would be messy, when the time came to deal with it. 

In the meantime, Lady Altair had left with no answers and a fresh cut to her face, burnt into a scar almost as soon as it appeared, as a reminder that, for all Garfit ruled the Fringe with an almost placid good mood, they were not someone to trifle with. 

“You did good,” Garfit added, after a moment, giving Equius a small, pleased smile that meant the world to him. “Very, very good. You might yet survive what’s to come.” 

“What is that, My Lord?” Equius asked, as Garfit sat back on their chair, skirts rustling as they settled in place. 

“Chaos,” Garfit snorted, shaking their head, “we’ve had a rather noticeable shortage of it, in the past millennia, but that tends to mean it’ll come back with a vengeance when it’s time.” 

“I would do my best,” Equius said, frowning somewhat, for lack of anything more poignant to offer. 

“I know you would,” Garfit smiled, “and I know you will. You did _good_ ,” they added, emphasis making something warm and pleased like pride curl up in Equius’ gut, “take the week off, it’s no small thing, doing good against the Eagle.” 

A lifetime ago, Equius would have protested. A lifetime ago, Equius didn’t understand the etiquette of graciously accepting such a gift, nor was he honest enough to admit he truly did need a week to recover, from nearly six days of Lady Altair prowling the ship – he’d almost thought _his_ ship, because he was childish like that. He bowed his head and retired to his quarters, where he proceeded to panic and crush tools with his hands until the old scars stopped tingling with taunting fear. 

  


* * *

  


“I worry about you sometimes,” Sollux said, guiding the tiny hologram on Feferi’s dresser to mimic his favorite frown, hands on his hips. Aradia once called that Sollux’s disappointed yet concerned lusus pose, but Sollux didn’t think about that now, lest he got lost in anger subroutines for a decade or two. The translucent figure tried to stare Feferi down. “I’m not one to mourn for Vriska, you know it, but if you want to take a few days—“ 

“She’s not dead, Sollux,” Feferi replied patiently, leaning on her dresser, and reaching a claw to flick his head. The image faltered for a moment, before reassembling itself. “I’d know if she were.” Feferi smiled, shaking her head. “No, Vriska isn’t dead yet and her being missing in itself isn’t enough to justify delaying this. The Exalted are tense enough, as it is.” 

“The Exalted can go fuck themselves on their own fucking sucker-crusted tentacles,” Sollux bit back, snorting. “Karkat is dragging his feet enough as it is.” 

“But not enough,” Feferi reminded him, almost pointedly. “He’s worried about Gamzee, but not as much as he should be.” 

“The last thing we need is Karkat heading out to the Fringe right now,” Sollux defended himself, shrugging. “He’ll be pissed, but at least he’ll be alive enough to be pissed, when it’s all said and done.” 

“Any news on that front?” Feferi asked carefully, licking her lips. “Any changes?” 

“Just the size of the mural,” Sollux muttered sullenly, “he’s still at it.” 

Feferi took a deep breath and let it out in compact, spaced sighs. She had not had the time to properly process the consequences of Gamzee’s actions or begin to even try to guess their significance. It probably did mean he was not actually going to war against her, which she appreciated, but the slaughter rattled her. That was going to be fun to deal with – and by fun she meant painful like sticking needles into the underside of her claws – but it could wait. Everything could wait, until the treaty was signed and the borders with the Truvians were properly defined. Then millions of trolls would stop dying every perigee, and maybe, just maybe, she could focus resources on something other than that stupid war. 

“Let me know if things changed in the Fringe,” Feferi said after a moment, sighing and giving in to the urge to rub circles over her temples. Her tiara had not gotten any lighter, over the centuries, but she personally preferred it that way. It made her second guess her choices long enough to remember the repercussions of her failure. “How’s Garfit doing?” 

Sollux flinched. It was cute, a corner of Feferi’s mind pointed out, while the rest of her braced against even more unfavorable news. 

“The Eagle dropped by to demand answers,” Sollux said, apologetic. “Since she hasn’t heard from her moirail in so long and the silence from the Subjugglators is so… universal.” 

“Oh god,” Feferi sighed loudly. 

She was, more often than not, in good terms with the Lords that still remained from her predecessor’s rule. Most of them had accepted her as their Empress without much fuss, and she valued both their input and their support, because she was absolutely certain she would not have such a good hold on the Empire without them. But they were warlords raised and bred under Condesce’s laws and while they ostensibly supported her reforms, they were still violent and vicious, feared far and wide by trolls smart enough to know better. They didn’t always approve of her reforms, of course, but the general sentiment she got from them was a certain resignation, because even if they didn’t explicitly approve of it, at least she was ruling the Empire. And that was more than most of them could say about Condesce, in the last few centuries of her rule. 

The last thing she needed, at the moment, was a spat between the pillars that held the Empire in place, while she was busy trying to sort out the Truvians and their absurd demands. 

“On the upside,” Sollux offered after a moment, expression wry, “they didn’t throw her out of an airlock, though I imagine it was a damn near thing. Equius hasn’t stopped shaking yet, the discussion about the whereabouts of the Subjugglators got… _loud_. So,” Sollux snorted acidly. “Kudos to Garfit for not losing their patience and squishing her head like a grape.” 

“Small mercies,” Feferi replied dryly, shaking her head. “Can you handle the situation in the Fringe for me? Keep an eye on Terezi and Nepeta, and make sure Garfit doesn’t do something drastic, like murdering Gamzee?” 

“Was already planning to, FF,” Sollux shrugged. “Why do you ask?” 

“Because I am officially ordering you not to tell me anything else about it, until the Truvian thing is sorted out,” Feferi said, smiling wryly. “I can’t concentrate and if we screw up the Truvian thing, I don’t think we’ll get a second chance. So. I’m trusting you to look after it for me.” 

Sollux frowned for a moment, before nodding solemnly. 

“Leave it to me,” he said, offering a small smile. “I mean, it’s a mess and all, but it’s not like it could possibly get worse.” 

  


* * *

  


“What is that thing, My Lord?” Equius asked, holding onto the wall to keep himself upright, as the aftershocks of the planet’s destruction managed to make even the _Deathfowl_ falter. 

Garfit contemplated the screens before them, studying the creature that seemed to crawl out of the ashes of the planet it’d just blown up. They clicked their claws against the armrests of their chair, ignoring the way all eyes on the bridge were on them, waiting for a command. It was troubling, whatever that creature was, winged and reptile and very much nothing like they’d known ever before. It was troubling, the way it consumed entire planets and seemed impervious to conventional damage. 

But Garfit existed to deal with troubling things, and this would not be an exception. 

“Tell every Captain aboard we’re deploying full force in five,” they said, straightening their back, the bells woven into their hair jiggling softly as they moved, “I want that thing dead.” There was a pause, before Garfit raised a hand and looked at Equius’ turned back. “Not you. You’re staying here.” 

“But—“ 

“You’re not a frontline Captain,” Garfit said severely, making Equius flinch on reflex. “Not anymore, at any rate. I have another task in mind for you, as it is.” Equius stood tall, clearly awaiting orders. “Find the boy and lock him in his quarters. Sit on him, if you must; this is not the time for one of his ridiculous stunts.” 

Many lifetimes ago, Equius would have been offended at such a task. Many lifetimes ago, Equius was an arrogant fool who didn’t understand anything at all. These days he put his faith blindly on what his Lord told him, and trusted it was always for the best. Almost always, it was. 

“As you command, My Lord,” he said, demure, and bowed his head slightly, before leaving in a flurry of rustling hair. 

Garfit watched him go with just the barest hint of concern pulling at their lip. Then they sighed and turned their attention completely back to the task at hand. It was rare, to find a situation that did not afford them time for distractions, so that meant they had to cherish and enjoy it to the fullest before the novelty wore off. 

“Now then,” they said, raising their voice to echo in the bridge. “Make me proud.” 

The _or else_ was left hanging in the air, weighting down those who heard it almost like a physical thing. But in the end, they were soldiers of the Fringe, servants of the Dragon that called the vast expanse chaos and perpetual war their lair. They had all long resigned themselves to the fact failure to their Lord meant painful, agonizing death. They certainly didn’t lack motivation, even in the face of such unfair odds. 

  


* * *

  


“Okay, shit,” Shaula said after a moment, “that’s _big_.” 

Big was probably an understatement. The ship before them dwarfed a nearby _planet_. And the cloud of smaller ships – all of them just about the same size as the _Anansi_ – did nothing to lessen the effect of the sheer size of the damn thing. While the rest of the crew stared and took in the scene – thousands of ships trying to push the Cherub away from the monstrous one behind them – Eridan let go of his controls and fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. 

“Yeah, that’s the _Deathfowl_ ,” he said, throat dry. 

He shouldn’t be surprised, in retrospect, considering they were deep in Alternian space already and this was the Fringe. Even though they’d managed to avoid contact with trolls as much as possible – which in itself was eerie, Eridan thought, trolls of the Fringe were vicious and the _Anansi_ was a fucking _whale_ , he had expected them to be shot at a lot more than they had been – something told him they were going to run into Garfit at some point. He was conflicted about it, though. On the one hand, Garfit had always been kind to him, doting on him like no one else ever had, without really asking anything in return. On the other hand, Eridan knew he was a defector at best, by now, a traitor at worse. And Garfit was Lord Imoogi, known and feared far and wide in the Empire, by trolls smart enough to know better. 

“And how do you know that?” Shaula demanded, scowling. “I don’t see a helpful label on the side.” 

“Because that’s a Juggernaut,” Eridan explained, trying to bite back a hysterical giggle, “and the _Deathfowl_ is the only one left.” 

“Not for long, though,” Camila snorted, watching the Cherub mow down the warships with terrifying ease. “Physical attacks aren’t going to do much against that thing.” 

“I’m not sure psi-fueled lasers count as physical,” Eridan muttered to himself, though privately he agreed with the sentiment. 

The Cherub wasn’t slowing down and once it was done with the small fry, it didn’t look like it planned to stop either. 

“Either way!” Shaula said after a moment, folding her arms over her chest, “it’s not our problem anyway. They can slow down that thing for us while we head out to the Inner Rim.” 

Eridan bristled immediately, in sharp contrast to the rest of the crew, who seemed more than happy to leave the _Deathfowl_ to its fate. 

“You said you were going to stop that thing,” Eridan said, frowning, “you can’t just walk away and let them die.” 

“Can and will!” Shaula snorted, shaking her head. “We’re running low on fuel anyway, and I thought you were on a big hurry to get home?” 

Eridan snarled a little, fins folding back. He had no illusions about Shaula’s character – and he was willing to admit it was at least refreshing for her to be so damn upfront about it all the time – but he wanted to argue. Because if they didn’t do something, a lot of people were going to die. And to be honest, he wouldn’t really care, if Garfit weren’t involved. It was selfish and childish, but he’d long made peace with being selfish and childish about his wants and desires. He fumbled for something to say, some argument to make Shaula change her mind, and found he really didn’t have much to say. It wasn’t like Shaula owed him anything, really, and it was slightly disconcerting to realize it so suddenly. 

“But—“ 

“I said I was gonna hunt down that thing, and I will,” Shaula rebuked him, mercilessly, “but I’ll do it at my own damn pace. I’m not a fucking super hero, Douchefins, I don’t do the whole saving people thing. It’s not my problem and I have other things to worry about, and so do you.” 

“It _is_ your problem, actually” Harlow drawled smugly, leaning against the doorway and looking down at all of them with a sneer. “If that ship gets destroyed, we’re _all_ fucked; one of the Pillars is in it.” 

Privately, Shaula was rather tired of Harlow’s habit to enter a room only to deliver a snarky remark or order her around. It was obnoxious. And there was also the fact that she really didn’t want to enter that battle, because trolls were dicks, in her experience, and there was no warranty they weren’t going to turn on her as soon as the Cherub was dealt with. She wasn’t joking when she said they were low on fuel, either, she wasn’t sure they had enough firepower on them to actually kill the thing and a frontal assault would be just plain _stupid_. 

But of course no one cared about sensible plans of attack, least of them all Harlow and his fucking smug ass sneer, daring her to disobey. She was the Captain, dammit, she was supposed to be in charge. 

“…just out of curiosity,” Shaula said after a moment, glaring at him, “do you fucking lurk around doorways for the right moment to announce yourself via unwanted deadpan, or is it just pure natural talent at being a _dick_?” 

“Yes,” Harlow said, eyebrows arched. “Now go kick Cherub ass, Serket, I don’t pay you to waste time.” 

“We’re getting paid for this?” Lazuli wondered absently. 

Shaula snorted again, loud and acidly, and shifted in her chair. 

“You heard the _asshat_ ,” she snapped, “battle stations, now, we’ve got assholes to save.” 

Eridan spared a grateful look at Harlow, who studiously ignored it, before settling in and gripping his controls with tight hands. He’d wonder about the identity of the Pillar after the battle was over, he promised himself, letting the drone of voices and orders wash over him. 

It was going to be alright. 

  


* * *

  


Equius found the boy in the spacious, lavishly decorated block he called his office, entering through the door the precise moment another tremor spread throughout the _Deathfowl_ and caused him to ruin whatever he was writing. Levtan screeched in frustration and threw down the quill, tearing at the ruined paper with his claws. There was something hollow and painful in Equius’ chest, that swelled and pulsed whenever he looked at the boy. Despite his fierce attempts to hide it – the shiny luster of his hair dyed an even, artificial black, the ridiculous glitter and swirls painted on his claws, the loud absence of scars on his face, the prim and proper white of his uniform, always pristine – the resemblance could not be denied. Equius made a conscious effort not to let it show, of course, because if there was something the boy resented – loudly and viscerally in a way that made Equius almost sympathetic, particularly after he’d found out his own Ancestor’s tale – was to be compared to the ghost of his Ancestor. It wasn’t fair, either, but Equius couldn’t help but wonder if there were tiny ghosts of himself in the boy, as well, beyond the screaming certainty that this was Eridan’s blood and Eridan’s horns and Eridan’s legacy, beyond a story that soon became a legend. 

Equius did not, on principle, think of his kismesis often – and he still thought of him as his kismesis, despite it all, because to him he’d offered the vows and meant them still to this day – because hurt and betrayal followed close after those thoughts, no matter what. Eridan was gone, had been gone for centuries, and Equius had done all in his power to move on. But every now and then, he looked at Levtan, fretting over this or that, living in fear of Lord Imoogi’s wrath, and the resemblance would assault Equius until he had to look away or risk drowning in old memories. 

Eridan was gone, and Equius was not, and perhaps the greatest injustice about it was that their roles had not been reversed. 

“I will murder them,” Levtan hissed, bristling when he saw Equius, “every single one of them, no legislacerator in the Empire would convict me.” 

“Lord Imoogi might disapprove, however,” Equius said, slowly approaching the desk, “they are, after all, rather fond of them.” 

He didn’t know who them was, exactly, but the truth of the matter was that people Lord Imoogi wasn’t rather fond of, were people who were dead, dying or soon to be. Levtan huffed loudly, slouching back into the chair. 

“What’s going on anyway?” He asked after a moment, rubbing his hands on his face, letting Equius see the garish design on his claws for that day. “Picked a fight with a black hole or something?” 

“Not quite,” Equius replied, shrugging elegantly, “but the battle remains a stalemate.” 

“Hnn,” Levtan snorted, and then sighed dramatically in a way that made breathing hurt, as far as Equius was concerned. “Well fuck, I’m never gonna finish transcribing this crap at this rate.” 

Equius studied the books spread out on the desk, the flourishing lettering in seadweller purple. He swallowed back a small, terrified chuckle, as he always did, because the script would forever be entwined with memories of Lady Altair and her impatience at his shortcomings. After the moment passed, he realized Levtan was squinting at him, lips pulled into an unintended pout as he did. 

“Lord Imoogi has requested you stay put,” Equius said, without inflection, and then added, with a ghost of ill-conceived humor: “And they have instructed me to sit on you, if you refuse.” 

“Yeah, no, that ain’t gonna fly,” Levtan said, rolling his eyes expressively. “Sit down and pick up a quill. You know how to write this shit, right?” 

“I—“ 

Equius stared a little, as a quill and an inkwell full of thin, violet ink was shoved in his general direction. He breathed deeply through his nose, because he would never be comfortable writing in that hue – it felt like a lie, like a big charade that everyone could see through and then sneer at the worthless truth of it – but to write those characters in anything other but violet would be worse, he supposed. 

“See? You do your thing and I stay put,” Levtan added, after his hesitant silence grew too long, “and I don’t have to kill everyone but mostly myself because I’m too behind on transcribing shit.” 

“I suppose that is acceptable,” Equius said slowly, as he pulled a chair and picked up a clean sheet of paper. 

The ship rocked to its core, once more. 

Levtan laughed, sharp and bitter, as he twisted his mouth into a frown. 

“We should make a drinking game of it,” he said, fingering the paper before him, “take a shot every time the fucking page gets ruined and you have to start all over again.” 

Equius did not snap at him for his language – the impulse was there, the word scalding hot under his tongue – or his posture or his tone. Because Levtan was not Eridan and Equius was not broken enough yet to forget about the difference. So he let out a soft sight and began to write, in neat, precise rows, artificial flourish coming clumsily to him, and ignored the battle raging outside. 

It would be alright, surely. 

  


* * *

  


“…sir.” 

Garfit didn’t ask the poor blueblood to explain himself. Under normal circumstances, they would have, but at the moment, it was very clear an explanation might not even be possible. Garfit stared at the display before him, as did most of the bridge crew as the battle halted abruptly. The main reason for that, was the ship – no, not a ship, a _whale_ – that had appeared almost out of nowhere, sliding into place between Garfit’s flagging forces and the monster plowing through them like they weren’t even there. A whale, Garfit noted with a tint of surprise, that had unleashed a large, encompassing shield that managed to stop the monster’s attacks, something none of the armored warships under their command had managed thus far. 

Garfit narrowed his eyes as the display zoomed in on the creature, recognizing the sign in bright, cerulean blue along its back. 

But even if this was Serket’s doing, somehow, it didn’t change the fact that it was a _whale_. A whale that flew in space and hovered in the middle of nothingness, fins twitching ever so slightly as the markings along its body glowed threateningly. 

“Order the warships back,” Garfit said after a moment, “all of them.” 

They’d had no effect against the monster, after all, and they realized that at best they’d simply get in the way. At worse, someone might get trigger happy and make the situation escalate. Garfit kept their expression calm and composed, as if nothing of particular interest was happening, and offered the bridge a withering glare when they didn’t immediately complied with their orders. 

Slowly, the warships folded back into their hangars, the dots disappearing in the main display, while the whale’s shield withstood several further attempts by the monster to attack it. Garfit decided to wait and see what would happen, rather than go with the impulse to fire the _Deathfowl_ 's main cannon and rid themselves of both the monster and the whale. The shield disappeared after a moment, as the monster rushed in after the whale, and Garfit admitted they were impressed by the maneuverability of the creature, as it avoided the attacks. 

The silence spread out throughout the bridge, as they witnessed the dogfight between the bizarre creatures, and the strange elegance to it. 

  


* * *

  


“Fuck, fuck, fuck, **_DODGE!_** ” Shaula shrieked, holding onto her seat as the cherub roared in anger and aimed to claw open the _Anansi_ ’s side. 

“I’m dodging, _I’m dodging!_ ” Eridan shrieked back, feet planted on the floor and clutching his controls with all his might. 

“Two hundred seconds left of cooldown,” Lazuli deadpanned, ignoring their antics. 

“I’m not sure we have two hundred seconds, at this rate,” Sydney said, hunching over his station, wincing as Eridan jolted the ship hard enough even the stable field around the bridge shuddered at the rough handling. 

“Sssixteen down, and counting,” Nico hissed, glowering at his own screens as the markers for the crew slowly dwindled and people simply dropped dead, around the ship. 

“You could _do_ something,” Shaula hissed, claws digging into the armrests of her chair, as she spared Harlow a frigid glare, “you know. Since this is your idea and all.” 

“This is your task,” Harlow reminded her, perfectly smug. And then he added, ominously enough to make Shaula shiver: “You would not want to be in my debt, anyway.” 

Eridan guided the whale as it dodged the barrage of attacks, swearing under his breath as sweat rolled down his forehead. The _Anansi_ was fast and nimble, but the Cherub was smaller and it seemed to predict his choices before he even made them. He had to dodge in a way that didn’t leave the _Deathfowl_ open to attack, either, what with the mouth-laser-bullshit-attacks that would probably down a ship even that big with enough hits. They had no shields and no firepower, not until the cooldown ended, and Eridan felt the visceral certainty that if he fucked up, they were all dead. 

Beneath the eyepatch, pain pulsed almost like a taunt, but he ignored it to the best of his ability, trying to gain enough distance to do _something_. 

“Camila,” Nico said, voice grave, “they found the firssst body.” 

“’s okay,” Camila said, pulling herself off her seat almost lazily, “I’ll go get their motherfucking panicky selves calmed right down.” 

Nico nodded at her, and to her credit, she didn’t look back when Eridan failed to react fast enough and Shaula shrieked in pain, kicking at air while she held her side. 

“Fuck,” Eridan said softly, forcing the whale to turn and roll, and then dodged another strike. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, Sha, I’m—“ 

“How fucking long til cooldown’s done!” Shaula snarled, teeth bared as she forced herself through the pain that made the tattoo on her back throb. “Lazuli!” 

“Thirty seconds,” the small, blue woman replied, fingers dancing across her screen. “Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight.” 

“Eridan,” Shaula said, and right then and there, she was the only authority the crew knew and recognized, “fly that fucker in a circle and get as close as you can. Ed, shoot the motherfucker point blank the moment power’s back online.” There was a pause and a shivery breath, before she added: “Sydney, breathe.” 

Sydney, who’d forgotten to breathe, did so with a shudder. He didn’t like battles, on principle, and he absolutely did not like them, when they threatened the people he cared about. He sat in his place and fidgeted nervously as Eridan pushed himself to keep the _Anansi_ close enough but not too close, while Lazuli’s monotone countdown echoed in the bridge. 

“Two, one,” Lazuli looked up at Ed and nodded sharply. 

Eridan pulled the _Anansi_ in a tight loop, until its nose was all but touching the Cherub. 

“Fire,” Ed said, low and gleeful as he pulled the trigger. 

The circle spread out in front of the _Anansi_ , wide and encompassing as the jewels encrusted on its body flared to life, shining bright. And then the cherub screamed as the beam of concentrated magic blasted into it pointblank, tearing at its wings with a vengeance. When the brightness faded, the cherub was, impossibly, still there. A little worse for wear, but still there. 

“Keep the circle powered,” Shaula snapped, teeth bared. 

“But cooldown—“ 

“But _he_ doesn’t know that,” Shaula interrupted, making Lazuli narrow all four eyes at her. “Keep it lit up.” 

For a moment, no one breathed, watching as the cherub twitched its signed wings menacingly. And then it shot off, flying away without looking back, and the bridge exploded into loud cheering. 

“Holy shit,” Eridan said, falling back into his seat, hands shaking, “ _holy shit_.” 

“Aren’t we forgetting something?” Harlow mused, eyebrows arched, as the _Deathfowl_ became a looming figure fast approaching. 

“Oh, fuck,” Shaula said, wrinkling her nose. “Fuck, I’ve got this.” She nodded at Sydney. “Open a channel, _I’ve got this_.” 

If anyone had doubts about it – and Eridan most certainly did, because Eridan knew Lord Imoogi and there was no way this was going to go any other way but awfully – no one said anything. 

  


* * *

  


Garfit was, despite it all, surprised when one of their communication techs told him there was a signal coming from the whale. It was a whale, for fuck’s sake. They kept their expression neutral as they ordered the channel to open, because they still weren’t sure provoking a fight would be smart, particularly not after watching the whale chase off something that the entirety of their troops hadn’t been able to handle. 

And then the video feed appeared in the largest monitor and Garfit’s pleasant smile froze in place, eyes narrowing they felt violet sparks crackling across their skin. 

“Yo,” said the girl, who was not the Serket Garfit had been expected, but was a Serket nonetheless. “So how about you start by saying thank you, and then we can move onto payment, because I sure as fuck just saved your—“ 

“Shaula, no!” 

“Shut up!” 

Garfit stared as two other trolls tackled the Serket girl – Shaula? – out of the frame, a large, Subjugglator nun and a troll whose face and voice and horns made something twist low in Garfit’s gut. There were flailing arms and feet kicked up in the air, until only the second troll could be seen, hissing low in his throat, unaware he was occupying much of the frame. 

“Eridan,” Garfit said, soft enough it was almost a sigh, but the effect was immediate. 

Eridan stood up straight and then flinched back, fins folding down as his shoulders hunched up, and Garfit had the oddest notion to laugh, because he looked like a turtle trying to hide away into its shell. The scars were the same, as was the look of embarrassed sheepishness that spread across his face. The eyepatch and the clothes were new, however, and a tiny corner of Garfit’s mind wondered what exactly had cost his erstwhile protergé his eye. 

“…Sir,” Eridan said after a moment, fumbling with words as he continued to try and make himself disappear altogether. “Ah. Uh. …Hello?” 

“You are alive,” Garfit pointed out unnecessarily, arching a single eyebrow that telegraphed enough to make Eridan flinch back as if struck. 

“Er, yes,” the boy said, swallowing hard. “I am. I would really like to stay alive, too.” 

“I am very glad you are alive, Eridan,” Garfit said, sincerely, ignoring the murmurs all around them. “It will take me about fifteen minutes to stop being glad that you are alive,” they went on, smile widening into one of the really nice ones at their disposal. “I suggest you find yourself in my quarters to begin explaining, before those fifteen minutes are over.” Garfit gave Eridan a significant look. “Dock your… ship in hangar D-5816.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Eridan croaked, shaking, “Thank you, Sir.” 

Garfit made a gesture with a hand, and the screen went dark. They took a moment to breathe and close their eyes, before they pushed themselves off their chair. 

“It goes without saying,” they said, almost as an afterthought, not bothering to properly address the trolls in the bridge, “that not a word is to be spoken about this and that hangar D-5816 is explicitly off limits to everyone.” 

They didn’t stay to hear the chorus of hushed, meek acceptance from the crew. Fifteen minutes would barely be enough to make their way back to their quarters, as it was. 

  


* * *

  


“What do you think you’re doing?” Eridan shrieked, in a very controlled, panicky way, as he shook Shaula by the shoulders so hard Camila had to step in and keep him from breaking the Captain’s neck. 

“Look,” Shaula said sourly, rubbing her neck, “just cuz the pretty lady is all stuck up and puffy doesn’t mean shit to me. I don’t grovel for seadwellers.” 

Camila let go of Shaula and walked out of the bridge, so she could go laugh herself stupid, because of course Shaula didn’t know who the Dragon of the Fringe was. Shaula had been a kid, when she’d left the Empire. But Camila was a Subjugglator, a Nun, and most important of all, a troll who lived in the Fringe long before Shaula came along to make her life hard. Camila knew damn well who the Peacock Lord was and why it was a bad idea to offend them. And now she had to deal with the very real possibility of her Captain meeting such a Lord, and the only option – other than very un-Subjugglator panic – was to laugh until she passed out. Which was exactly what she went to do. 

“Pretty… lady… ” Eridan mumbled, staring at Shaula like she’d grown a second head. 

“What? I’ve got eyes!” Shaula said, defensively, and folded her arms over her chest with a huff. “She’s _hot_ , okay? Just not hot enough to make me bow.” 

Eridan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“They.” 

Shaula paused, as she started following him down the corridor towards the portal that’d take them out into the _Deathfowl_ , proper. Docking hadn’t been so hard, but the fact the hangar was deserted when they arrived helped somewhat. 

“What.” 

“Not she,” Eridan said, as patiently as he could. “ _They_. As in, they’re _not_ a pretty lady. They’re Lord fucking Imoogi.” 

“Lord?” Shaula frowned. 

“Lord who culls idiots who annoy them,” Eridan insisted, swallowing hard. 

Shaula took a moment to think about it, frowning as Eridan tried to make himself presentable and then decided there was no point to it about the same time. 

“Dude looks like a lady,” Shaula declared, shrugging. 

Eridan tripped and nearly faceplanted across the corridor. 

“ _Not_ a dude,” he said, almost hysterical. “And _not_ a lady. _Lord Imoogi_. Lord of explode-y things and gruesome _death_.” 

Shaula snorted. 

“Well _whatever_ , point is!” She grinned at him, cocky and overconfident and, Eridan was sure, about to get them all killed. “They can be hot as fuck and all Lord-y as they want, but I’m still not taking orders from them. I mean, it’s a near thing and all, but I’ve got principles.” 

Eridan let his arms hang from his sides and then turned back to the portal with an audible gulp. 

“We’re all going to die such painful awkward deaths.” 

The walk from the _Anansi_ to Garfit’s quarters was _eternal_ , as far as Eridan was concerned. He didn’t even really notice that they didn’t cross paths with anyone, along the way, though he supposed that was Garfit’s doing as well. He’d have wanted to go alone, to mitigate the incoming revelations that were sure to leave Lord Imoogi not quite amused. But of course Shaula wanted to come along, she was the Captain, and she had to meet anyone who made Eridan that terrified. And of course, Harlow was coming too, because when would Harlow stop himself from making things patently worse? Eridan sighed in despair and marched on, coat billowing behind him like a mockery of a cape. He paused outside the door, long enough to take a deep breath and purposely ignore the pulse of something behind the eyepatch, and then entered with an air of a man doomed to execution. 

Which, he admitted, he wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t the case. 

“Well then,” Garfit said, voice even and expression painfully amused, as they leaned back on their chair and studied the trio of trolls – or troll-looking things – before them, “ _do_ explain.” 

Eridan took a deep breath and did the best he could. 

  


* * *

  


Eridan opened his mouth, thought better of it, and then closed it without making a sound. Levtan stared, immutable. Inside Lord Imoogi’s quarters, voices were getting louder, and normally Eridan would be worried – would be trying to cough up the courage to go back in, after being dismissed, to stop Harlow from _doing_ something or Shaula from _saying_ anything – but considering he was standing before a younger version of himself – well no, he knew, intellectually, that wasn’t how it worked, but still, it was jarring and bizarre and he felt vaguely ill – one could excuse him for not caring about the pandemonium soon to break out beyond the door at his back. 

“Your scarf is fucking ugly,” Levtan said, finally, and then rolled his eyes pointedly. “And your claws are a disgrace,” he added, wrinkling his nose as he swept his eyes up and down his Ancestor with disdain. Clearly, he wasn’t impressed by what he saw. “C’mon.” 

Eridan realized he was clutching his scarf defensively and let go of it, one finger at the time, before he shuddered and followed his Descendant’s swift steps down the corridor. He wanted to ask so many questions, and yet he realized he was afraid of all the possible answers. He found himself laughing quietly, hysterically, at the memory of Psii, explaining in minute detail how much Sollux freaked him out. Eridan used to smile indulgently and nod in all the right places, because to him, Sollux and Psii were entirely two different people. And then he’d befriended Arthur, of course, and his experience with the psionic menace had mellowed him out enough on the concept of inheritance. But still, Eridan had never actually thought he’d get descendants. It wasn’t even the old self-deprecation weighting him down into a black hole of self-loathing. It just never seemed real. He was always too young or too dumb and the thought of some poor fucker having to deal with the same faulty genes he did… 

Eridan remembered with a jolt that he wasn’t that young, anymore. 

The knowledge sat bitter in his gut, somewhere along the screaming rage that pulsed in his eye at the knowledge of how long he’d been gone. Garfit had been blasé about it, and Eridan had not broken to pieces at the revelation, because to do so would be uncouth and he wasn’t sure Garfit wasn’t going to decide to throw them all out of an airlock anyway. He couldn’t break down now, either, he realized. For better or for worse, Levtan – the name rolled awkwardly off his tongue – was his descendant and he couldn’t very well act like a complete and abject failure on their first meeting. 

Eridan wondered what it’d be like, to meet his own Ancestor, and then remembered his Ancestor was Dualscar. He’d probably shoot his head off for being a shame to their bloodline, no doubt. 

“So,” he said, trailing off the slight, off-key chuckle the thought gave him, “Lord Imoogi’s steward, huh?” 

“Fuck you,” Levtan said, not skipping a beat, glaring over his shoulder. “I’m so sorry I’m not a hero of fucking legend or anything, your highness, some of us have to actually work doing the shit no one wants to do. So fuck you and your fucking disappointment, you can shove it up your _nook_.” 

Eridan stared. Levtan glared, his upper lip twitching as he tried to hold the snarl steady. Eridan felt a pang of deep sympathy for the boy, a strange understanding of his anger and his defensiveness, and actively fought the urge to reach out and hug the stupid kid into submission. That would be weird, and Levtan probably wouldn’t appreciate it. Privately, Eridan didn’t think he’d have appreciated a hug when he needed it most, either. So instead he sank his hands into the depths of his trench coat, slouched forward and offered his wryest smile. 

“Kid, I was an admin,” Eridan said, head slightly tilted to the side. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. An admin,” he repeated, eyebrows arched as Levtan stared. “A damn good one, to be sure. But still. Paperpusher extraordinare, that’s all I ever was.” 

Which wasn’t, in honor to the truth, exactly true. But Eridan honestly had no idea where the whole hero of legend thing came from. He shrugged again, and again, until Levtan snapped his mouth shut and frowned. 

“But you killed the Enslaver,” he said, unsure, and it sounded more like a question than a statement. “You freed the Empress from her chains. Everyone knows this,” he insisted, when it seemed it was Eridan’s turn to stare. “ _You’re a hero_.” 

“I—“ And then Eridan grew quiet and his eyes grew distant. _Oh, Fef_ , he didn’t say. Instead: “I didn’t, my moirail did. I was just dumb and got in the way.” 

Levtan scowled, absently chewing his lower lip. 

“That’s not what history says,” he offered, finally, and looked Eridan over again, squinting. “That’s not—The Empress made a holiday and everything. _Everyone knows_.” 

It made sense, Eridan thought, hollowed out and saddened to the point of tears, which he held back out of sheer pride. Of course they would not honor Psii, no one knew about Psii. And he’d been gone so long – so fucking long, it wasn’t fair, that wasn’t what their deal was supposed to be – that, who was to object about it? They had to say something, when they came out and admit that the Imperial Lusus was gone. They had to blame it on someone. Eridan had always expected them to blame him for it, of course, because Eridan was dumb and dramatic that way, but he never ever expected them to make it into something _good_. He remembered the stench of Gl'bgolyb’s burnt flesh, of seawater evaporated under the weight of Psii’s psionics, the Sulphur aftertaste of psi in the air. He remembered the screaming, inside and outside his skull, the Witch’s song and the cold of the Void. 

Somehow, they had made it into something _good_ and dumped all credit on him, for it. 

Because no one was supposed to know Psii existed. No one was supposed to consider or question the narrative the Empire needed to survive. So of course it made sense. 

“I need a fucking bath,” Eridan said, voice uncomfortably high, as he tried to keep himself from freaking out and scaring off the poor kid. “And maybe eternity and a half in actual sopor.” 

“And to clean your claws,” Levtan added, after a moment of giving Eridan a shrewd, considering look that was wholly _Karkat_ in ways that nearly sent Eridan into loud, hysterical laughter. He wrinkled his nose again and started walking briskly down the corridor again. “Seriously, they’re gross.” 

“Maybe you should fix them for me,” Eridan muttered, clinging to his sanity to the best of his ability. 

“I am Lord Imoogi’s steward,” Levtan hissed at him, bristling and flaring his fins open in outrage, “I’m not some… attendant or something! Fix them yourself, you slovenly disaster.” 

“Right, right,” Eridan chuckled, and thought the whole meet your descendant thing had been a success, when Levtan closed the door behind him and left him alone in the luxurious, lavishly decorated quarters Garfit had offered him. 

He leaned against the door and slid down the ground until he could press his forehead to his knees. He didn’t cry, not really. He just concentrated on existing, from one moment to the next, and ignored the excruciating pain eating at his skull, radiating like waves of hate from the depths behind the eyepatch. 

It was going to be okay. 

Probably. 

  


* * *

  


“You’re an idiot.” 

Eridan stood up straight, looking around for the source of the familiar voice, and ended up turning around full circle before letting his shoulders slump. He chuckled, wry and bitter, and pressed his hands to his face. 

“You have no idea,” he said, then resumed the tedious process of removing his clothes, folding them neatly as he went along. “Hello, Sol.” 

“Hello, Sol? _Hello, Sol_?” The tiny metallic plate on the dresser lit up and Eridan stared as Sollux appeared on it, hands fisted on his hips and expression incredulous. “You’re gone _one thousand sweeps_ , you _jerkfuck_ , and all you have to say for yourself is ‘Hello, Sol’? Oh my _god_ , Eridan, I’m going to kill you.” 

“Please don’t,” Eridan said, choking on a laugh as he held his shirt before him, almost like a shield. “And… I’m sorry?” 

“You damn well should be!” Sollux scowled. “You fucking jackass, I’ve spent a thousand sweeps sober, Eridan. Do you know how _long_ that is?” 

Eridan thought of the endless expanse of desert and wasteland, the millions of ships with their millions of dead Helmsmen. He thought of the Leagues – fucking Blue Leagues, honestly – eating through reality, lighting up the sky in blue right before it all faded away. He thought of time chipping away at his sanity for so long that he finally realized he could only survive if he refused to acknowledge it. He swallowed hard and lowered the shirt, staring at the tiny light construct that made something inside him throb, because he was home but he wasn’t _done_ yet. 

“A little,” he said, hoarsely. And then, because he could: “It’s so fucking good to see you, Sol.” 

“Go fuck yourself, Ampora,” Sollux snarled back, in that same tone that Eridan remembered and felt like a balm on his frayed nerves. “A thousand sweeps! Holy shit, jerkwad, start talking already!” 

Eridan snorted, offended, even as he started undoing his pants. 

“Fuck you, I want to take a bath,” he said, feeling himself slowly but surely realizing what home actually meant. “I’ve been told my claws are filthy and that it’s unacceptable.” 

“You can talk and take a bath,” Sollux pointed out, eyebrows arched. “Or you can take a bath and I will leer into forever, because after a thousand years, you so fucking owe me a threesome it’s illegal.” 

“Never gonna happen,” Eridan laughed – and for the first time, the sound wasn’t hysterical or mad, just pure, childish delight because it was Sol and of course he’d ask, this was their thing. Eridan laughed and threw the pants at the platform, and laughed harder when Sollux disappeared with a mighty angry squeak. 

“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I can’t see you,” Sollux’s voice echoed around the block, as Eridan worked on getting the last of his clothes off and stared in yearning at the wide, deep pool that served as tub in the ablution chamber. “For the record.” 

“Don’t care,” Eridan said, resolutely, and sank into the water with an intentionally loud moan. 

“I swear to god, Eridan—“ 

Eridan sank into the bottom, but raised his hands above the water, flipping Sollux off with both. 

He was _home_. He’d been home for a while, now, but it was only just starting to feel like it. 

  


* * *

  


The door banged open. This was in itself surprising, considering it was a standard spaceship slide door, and thus there was nothing to bang. Eridan shrieked a little, nontheless, and sunk down into tub until his eyes were level with the surface of the water. Shaula sauntered into the block and proceeded to undress herself with remarkable violence: clothes were thrown every each way, jewelry bouncing off the floor with loud clattering and a feral look in her eyes that made Eridan wince and fold his fins back on reflex. 

“Scoot over,” she demanded, hands on her hips as she stared him down imperiously. 

The tub was more like a pool, in true seadweller fashion. Eridan obeyed, nonetheless. 

“I–” 

“Yes,” Shaula snapped, sinking into the water with a short, sharp splash, “you told me so. I will still fucking disembowel you, if you so much as breathe that thought out loud though.” 

“It’s not that bad,” Eridan offered, after a moment of carefully weighting his options and his willingness to be disemboweled over a fairly unfunny joke. “I mean, if they were really mad, we’d be dead.” 

“Please stop trying to comfort me,” Shaula said, worming her way up Eridan’s side until she was sulking under his arm. “You are absolute shit at comforting.” 

“Well–” 

“Less talking, more cuddling,” Shaula snapped sullenly, sinking down so she could blow angry bubbles in the water. 

Eridan complied with a small shrug. They lay there for a long, long time, until Eridan relaxed again and Shaula had gone almost gooey at his side. And then she sighed loudly and Eridan braced himself, because even if he hadn’t been part of her crew for long, he’d learned very quickly that only bad things followed that sound. 

“I left Harlow,” Shaula said after a moment, “alone, with Lord Bitchyfins.” 

There was a moment while Eridan digested the information. 

Very, very slowly, he sank underwater, pressing his face into her side. Shaula patted his hair sympathetically. 

“It’s okay,” she said, mouth twisted into an amused smile, “if worse comes to worst, I’ll kill you first.” 

Eridan whimpered, tiny bubbles coming out of his mouth, and refused to believe this was his life. 

  


* * *

  


“…but it’s a _whale_ ,” Garfit insisted, well into their fourth glass. 

“Yep,” Harlow said, pouring himself another glass. “A _space_ whale.” 

Garfit emptied the glass in one gulp, ignoring Harlow’s obnoxious laugh. 

  


* * *

  


“And I do mean filthy, his claws are a… disgrace…” 

Equius stalked away without another word. Levtan huffed loudly and scowled. Typical. He rolled his eyes and went back to his books and his transcribing. Of course Lord Imoogi would be contrary and annoying and insist on keeping everything in print. And of course, Levtan would be saddled with the unenviable job of looking after their absurdly large library – rivalled only by their absurdly large wardrobe – doomed to waste hours upon hours transcribing crumpled paper that was all but falling apart with age. Levtan didn’t really get why Lord Imoogi was so against technology sometimes, but his place wasn’t to question the old Lord. His place was to be polite and docile and do as he was told, lest Lord Imoogi reminded him what happened when he didn’t. 

It was such a _drag_. 

He focused on his job and refused to waste precious time thinking about what it’d happen, now that his Ancestor was back from the metaphorical ditch. Levtan had never really liked his Ancestor, mostly because no one would shut up about him. It was so goddamn infuriating, growing up in the shadow of someone like that. Schoolfeeding had been a nightmare, night after night of whispers and comments and snide remarks, because he didn’t look the part of destroyer of the unkillable. He was thin and sulky and much preferred to slip away and have adventures with Glydan, than be the prim, perfect Lord he was supposed to be. Lords were all so fucking stuck up and _boring_ , anyway. But now Glydan was dead and his Ancestor… wasn’t, and Levtan honestly had no intention to deal with the news at all, if possible. Let his Ancestor go on being a celebrity or something. Let Lord Imoogi focus on someone else for a change. Levtan thought it was unfair, that Glydan was gone, now that he could really use a little pirate escapade. But he didn’t know what had happened to Glydan’s fleet without him at the top, and he knew enough about pirates to know he wouldn’t be quite as welcome as he’d once been, if he tried to go to them. 

His Ancestor was nothing like Glydan, he decided, spreading a brand new page and dipping his quill with far too much violence. Even if they were both missing an eye, his Ancestor had to cover it up like it was something to be ashamed of. Glydan always wore his scars proudly because, he’d told Levtan, scars meant he’d survived whatever had tried to kill him. And the implication always was whatever tried to kill him very much _hadn’t_. Glydan had been cool and larger than life, and Levtan thought it was thoroughly unfair that no one knew him, because then they’d obviously dump stupid traditions about his Ancestor’s “noble sacrifice” and focus their mindless admiration on someone who actually deserved it. 

“Jerk,” Levtan muttered to himself, scowling. 

“Who?” 

He nearly fell of his chair at the sound, and found himself staring at the kid peeking at him over the rim of his desk. Point number one, Levtan thought, with sober aplomb: they were in the Fringe. There were no fucking children in the Fringe. And yet. Point number two, Levtan went on, slowly sitting up straight, as the girl stared on, unblinking: this was a kid, the grey eyes were a dead giveaway, and there was no denying there was a tiny kid staring at him from across his desk. 

“I’m Sinann,” the kid said, matter of factly, then pulled herself up so she could sit on his desk, still staring at him intently. She frowned. “You’re not Eridan.” 

“No fucking shit,” Levtan blurted out, before he could stop himself, irrationally annoyed at yet another unwelcome reminder. He coughed, ran a hand through his hair and tried to look as unruffled as possible. “I’m Levtan. Levtan Ampora.” 

“You look like Eridan,” Sinann said, as if this was some great crime. “Why?” 

Levtan wondered if Lord Imoogi would really blame him for sneaking into their liquor cabinet so soon after his last attempt. 

  


* * *

  


Eridan surveyed the block with a faint sense of irritation, not quite glowering yet. 

Somehow – Shaula’s doing, no doubt – the _Anansi_ crew was crashing in on the block, drinking and eating and chatting loudly about nothing in particular. Somehow – Shaula’s fault, seriously – they’d decided this was perfectly acceptable and in no way obnoxious, and that he should loosen up and join the party because, hey, they weren’t dead yet! Somehow – Shaula, Shaula, _Shaula_ – Eridan’s dreams of a nice nap and maybe some peace and quiet were little more than a nice fantasy at this point. 

It wouldn’t be so bad, really – okay, it would be bad anyway, because SHAULA – if Sollux wasn’t sitting there in the middle of it all, all holographic nightmare of prodding questions and uncomfortably sexual innuendos, picking on Lazuli and Camila and anyone who stayed still long enough. 

They’d dragged Ed into it. 

Ed. 

Eridan pressed his face into his hands and refused to think about Harlow and Sinann, let loose somewhere in the vastness of the _Deathfowl_ , because then he’d have to stomp over the couch and steal a bottle for himself, because honestly. _Fuck_ this ridiculous destiny shit. Fuck it really hard with something sharp and phallic. 

And then, because he wasn’t regretting everything enough, already, there was a quiet knock on the door, just as Sollux grew ominously quiet. 

“What now?” Eridan asked as he opened the door, so out of fucks to give he might never recover. 

Equius stared down at him. 

“Oh,” Eridan said, just as Sollux burst out laughing in that nasal, chortling way of his that made Eridan want to strangle him with his own fucking noodle arms. “Hey.” 

Equius turned and ran. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote at the beginning by William Jennings Bryan.


	6. V: The Hierophant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **Notes from Fi:**_ EQUIUS, EQUIUS, BABY, NO.
> 
>  _ **Notes from Rie:**_ No, seriously. Equius. Stop.

  


* * *

  


_For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first._

  


* * *

  


Eridan wanted, more than anything, to run away. He felt the burning urge echo in his very bones, but he did not. Maybe, he thought a tad hysterically, he’d gone so long forcing himself against his own wants, that he no longer remembered what it was like, to give in to them. Maybe he knew better, what needed to be done. Maybe he felt – now, more than ever, after Garfit told him just how long he’d been gone – like he owed Equius at least an apology. There was a certain jaded misery to his steps, as he followed after Equius at a more sedate pace. He’d been gone a thousand sweeps, after all, it was silly to hope things would somehow go back to what they had been. They had thought him dead – had built altars to his memory, placed offerings to a sacrifice he had never done – and in time, they must have moved on. Eridan was selfish enough to flirt with the idea of wanting them to still be waiting for him, to not have lost their faith in him, but he wasn’t so lacking in self-awareness that he didn’t understand how cruel it was to want for that. No one understood the pain of wanting and waiting as much as he did, by now, and even at his most selfish, he couldn’t wish that upon the very people he claimed to have done everything for. 

It still wasn’t _fair_ , though, and half his face pulsed with pain and hatred because of it. 

It wasn’t what he’d asked for. 

Of course Sollux was glad to have him back, would just take him in without any real bitterness about it. Sollux had known him at his worst, for exactly what he’d always been, and he’d still somehow found a way to be his friend. Eridan expected questions, from Sollux, perhaps bad jokes and lewd propositions neither of them really expected to come through. But not the recrimination and the hurt and all the awkward, awkward things he knew were waiting for him when he finally met Karkat and Equius. He’d dreamed about that, for days that stretched into forever, walking along one wasteland after another, of coming home and finding his place and forgetting his role in a destiny so grand he couldn’t have been meant to have any real part in it. He’d dreamed and wished and _hoped_ , and now it was all poisoned by knowledge as he found himself wanting to laugh at himself until he cried. 

He, above all creatures in creation, should have known better than to _hope_. 

He turned a corner and walked into Equius, who was waiting for him with a façade of stoicism that even Eridan could tell, was brittle bullshit all the way down. He made a noise of surprise and stepped back, raising his arms in surrender as bits and pieces of the front fell right before his eyes. Equius was breathing hard and trying to pretend he wasn’t, grinding his teeth and barely holding back a snarl. He’d changed a lot, Eridan thought, from what he remembered. He was still tall and wide and built like a fucking brick wall, of course, but there was a certain leanness to him that wasn’t there, before. Lines of fatigue on his face ran along a magnificent scar from the corner of his left eye to the corner of his mouth, thick and bitter. His uniform was different, Eridan noted absently, invoking old knowledge he hadn’t bothered to use in forever, the armband proclaiming him crew of the Deathfowl, rather than master of his own ship. And his hair was long, still smooth and flat, but so long now it fell like water down his head all the way down to his knees. Eridan wondered if Equius was cataloguing the changes on him as well, behind the shield of his glasses. He hadn’t needed his in a very long time, but Eridan found himself yearning for his old pair all of a sudden, much like he yearned for anything that could even pretend to invoke the old days, when Eridan would have felt wholly entitled to reach out and kiss Equius into a stupid, moaning mess. 

Eridan opened his mouth to say something – anything – but Equius beat him to it, scowling darkly. 

“If you say _hey_ or any permutation thereof,” he said, seeming to swell in size by sheer force of anger, “I will legitimately punch you.” 

Eridan crackled a surprised laugh, shifting his slouch to be less defensive and more rueful, and stuck his hands into the pockets of his coat, smiling wryly. 

“Go ahead,” he offered, scars wrinkling up on his face, as the smile deepened somewhat. “I can swear up and down you literally cannot kill me right now, and to be fair, I probably deserve it.” 

Equius did not take the joke kindly. Eridan hadn’t really expected him to, but he was still oddly disappointed by the way Equius’ shoulders tensed, as if he were fighting a full-body urge to run away again. 

“You’re alive,” Equius said instead, half awed whisper, half things Eridan didn’t really understand. “Aren’t you.” 

“For some values of the concept, yes,” Eridan said, smile fading into a resigned half expression that couldn’t seem to decide what it wanted to be: tired grimace or awkward grin. He took a deep breath, feeling his insides burn with something that for once had nothing to do with the burning behind the eyepatch, and let it out in a soft sigh. “It’s good to see you again, Equius.” 

“You _left_ ,” Equius said, before he could help himself, biting the accusation in half before he found himself saying too much. 

Eridan found his best intentions to take abuse and grovel senselessly before the man shriveled up in the face of his anger. Unlike Equius, he’d never been good at keeping his mouth shut, and after so long not having to, he found he wasn’t as good at it as he’d once been. 

“It’s not like I left on _purpose_ ,” he snapped back, hunching in place as he frowned back. “You think I—“ 

“Yes.” 

Eridan found himself staring, as Equius glared down at him with hurt and betrayal that pierced almost too much to bear. Eridan found his mouth hanging open and only belated shut his jaw, staring. 

“Yes, you _did_ ,” Equius hissed, dark and bitter, taking a step forward to loom properly, making Eridan feel small and insignificant like he hadn’t felt in ages. “You left with your moirail, without word or warning. You _chose_ him over the consequences; you trusted _him_ , and no one else.” And then, as Eridan began to understand what Equius meant, the taller troll bared his teeth, rearing back like a cobra about to strike. “You left _me_.” 

Eridan, bitter and tired as he was, let the words out of his mouth before he realized what a terrible thing they were. 

“Because you’d have helped, if you’d known,” he snarled, sarcastic enough it burned on his tongue. “Hey, Eq, my moirail is committing suicide in the most fucking melodramatic of ways, wanna help?” 

He’d intended to ground Equius back to reality, to what reality had been, back then. With what he’d know and built his own choices from. But Equius went quiet and pale, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly in a way that Eridan was horrified to realize meant Equius was trying not to _cry_. 

“I would have,” Equius said softly, licking his lips as his breathing hitched painfully and Eridan realized he was staring. “I would have helped him, for your sake.” Equius’ voice rose in pitch and volume, as he clenched his hands at his sides, digging his claws into the fleshy bit of his hands. “For _your sake_ , I would have left it all behind.” Equius swallowed hard, voice breaking and with it most of Eridan’s heart. “ _I_ meant it, when I swore in blood and steel.” 

Eridan felt understanding like a kick to the teeth, as he often did. Which was probably why he’d endeavored to avoid it for most of his life. He felt the pieces click together and realized Equius wasn’t angry at him, for being gone for so long, but for how he’d left in the first place. Eridan remembered hazy details, about those last days. He remembered bitterness and anger and suffering. He remembered lying like he’d never lied before, building up an image only Sollux could have seen through, but who hadn’t for some reason. 

He remembered Aradia, telling him in no uncertain terms, that if he chose to help Psii no one else could know, or they’d try to stop him and ruin things. And he remembered being so hurt and scared and taking her word for universal truth, because it was the only certainty he had left, at that point. He barked a cold, bitter laugh, fingers clenching into fists in the depths of his pockets, as he felt his anger burn bright and white inside his veins. 

_The Handmaid lies_ , he’d said, over and over again, like a prayer and a mantra to hold his sanity in place, and yet, in the end, he’d believed her anyway. 

“I—“ he began and didn’t say, _didn’t have a choice_ , because he realized the moment he opened his mouth that it was a lie. He’d always had a choice. Everything, prophecies and predestination and destiny, they all hinged on the choices of those at the center of it. He knew that. He knew that better than anyone in the world, except perhaps Aradia Megido. And Eridan felt a burst of meanspirited laughter as he clenched his teeth in frustration. “I made a choice. It was a shitty as all fuck choice. I did what I thought best and I fucked up.” 

Equius let out a shuddering breath, licking his lips as he seemed to almost sway in place. He had not expected Eridan to acknowledge it so bluntly. He had expected many things – and shouldn’t he know better now, than to expect things of Eridan Ampora? – but not blunt acceptance of his own mistakes. He swallowed hard as he found himself choking on his own emotions. 

“This is not a conversation one should have in corridors,” he said eventually, almost in full control of himself again. This was a private conversation that he wanted more than he wanted air, and that was why he’d sought out Eridan in the first place, before he saw him, whole and almost unconcerned, and the rage roared in his gut and forced him to go away lest he beat the man into a pulp in frustration. Equius found himself lacking most of his rage, at the moment, now that he’d let it all out in one go, bottled up feelings running through his teeth without a care. He swallowed hard and tilted his head, hair rustling as he did. “Perhaps… perhaps you’d be amenable to continue in my quarters?” 

No, not really. Eridan wanted to run away and hide under a rock and then rage until he burst inside out. It wasn’t _fair_. But _someone_ needed to start fixing it up somewhere, and this was as good as any a chance to do so. He swallowed hard. 

“Sure,” he said, shrugging lightly, “if you’ll have me.” 

Equius stared at him, so long it almost hurt, and then turned around and left at a brisk place, hair billowing behind him. Eridan resisted the urge to touch his hair, tempted as he was, and followed without a word. 

He reckoned there would be plenty of words, once they were in private anyway. 

  


* * *

  


“No, wait!” Levtan stared in horror as the girl dived into the water without a second thought. “Oh fuck, _oh fuck_.” 

He panicked for a moment, staring at the foam that rose with her entrance, staring at the water as if hoping she would resurface and he could just drag her out without having to actually go in. She didn’t. He swallowed hard and weighted his options, before realizing that, if the way she talked about him was any indication, and something happened to her, his _Ancestor_ would be pissed. And then Lord Imoogi might get pissed too, just on principle. 

And he was honestly too pretty and too awesome to die this young. 

So he pulled his coat off and dropped it on the grating he’d been standing on, followed by his shoes and socks, and then took a deep breath before diving into the unwelcoming depths. 

He could only hope she would be smart enough to stay away from Lord Imoogi’s lusus. But he supposed that if she didn’t, then they would both be too dead to really have to worry about who was angry at them in the first place. 

Levtan whimpered, swimming as fast as he could. 

  


* * *

  


Equius didn’t notice the ruckus inside the tank, as he lead Eridan through one of the bridges towards his quarters. He was too focused on keeping his composure and the enormity of the moment, to really care about anything not happening in the storm inside his skull. 

“She did not,” Eridan said, interrupting his efforts, voice dry and deadpan in a way Equius had seldom heard before. 

He realized Eridan was no longer following, but was rather standing in place, staring at the tank. Equius followed his line of sight and realized his Lord’s lusus was awake – was awake and chasing after Levtan and a small child, impossibly huge maws trying to catch them and possibly swallow them whole. Equius broke on a cold sweat, muttering a startlingly filthy string of profanity under his breath. 

He could tell the moment Eridan’s temper snapped, because he let out a subsonic shriek that made Equius sway and nearly lose his footing. It was probably the impromptu migraine, Equius thought, somewhat desperately, when he looked up and swore Eridan was glowing, outlined in white and gold, the light pooling at his feet as he snarled at the tank. A dot of light appeared between them, high above their heads. Equius stared as it spread out into a circle, a couple feet wide, a winged emblem in its core. And then it shifted to something white that somehow made him feel uneasy. Levtan and the child fell through the circle, as if it were a hole; he landed on his face, limbs askew, but the girl – and it was a girl, Equius realized, feeling his tenuous grasp of sanity begin to unravel thread by thread – landed easy on her feet, atop Levtan’s back. 

“You’re not this _stupid_ ,” Eridan hissed, no longer glowing but looking enraged like Equius had never seen him before. “You _can’t_ be this fucking stupid, what the actual _fuck_ , Sinann?” 

The girl shrank back, fins dropping and expression chastised. 

“There were fish,” she said, sullen. “I wanted to see them.” 

“And the fucking _dragon_ , too, I suppose” Eridan snarled, voice raising in pitch enough to make her flinch back. 

The girl looked up at Eridan like most trolls did at their snarling, berating lusus, fidgeting. 

“I didn’t know,” she said, voice nearly a whisper, as she began playing with the beads stuck in her hair. “I didn’t… I didn’t _mean_ to, please don’t be mad.” 

Miraculously, Eridan did not lash out some more. He took a deep breath, closed his eye, and then released air slowly until his breathing was even again. He licked his lips. 

“I’m not angry at _you_ , kiddo,” he said, plastering a halfway believable smile on his face, which vanished as soon as he went on. “I’m murderously pissed at the inbred fucking shitstain that’s supposed to be looking after you.” 

Content that she was no longer the target of her guardian’s rage, Sinann shrugged, finally stepping back and allowing Levtan some measure of dignity. Levtan was currently trying very hard to become one with the floor in the hopes that no one would notice him and start yelling at him, because he was still trying to process how he’d gotten where he was, from where he’d been. Dignity was not an issue Levtan was currently bothering with. At all. 

“Harlow said I could explore,” Sinann offered, blinking calmly as Eridan’s expression darkened by degrees. 

“ _Did_ he, now?” Eridan purred, eye slightly bled on red, expression telegraphing exactly how he felt about that. 

“Yes,” Sinann nodded earnestly, raising her arms when he reached down to pick her up with ease. “He said it was okay to go anywhere I wanted while he talked with his friend.” 

“Excuse me,” Eridan said in an even, shockingly polite tone, nodding purposefully as he spared Equius an almost apologetic look. “I need to go and yell myself hoarse at someone, can we catch up later?” 

Equius nodded helplessly as he watched Eridan stalk away with the girl in his arms, coat billowing dramatically behind him. He stood there for a long, long moment, until Levtan saw fit to sit up. 

“That Harlow dude was talking with Lord Imoogi,” the boy said after a moment, a horrified thought curling his skull as he looked up at Equius helplessly. “You don’t reckon he’s gonna go and yell at him right there _in Lord Imoogi’s office_ , do ya?” 

Equius broke into a dead run without a second thought. Levtan watched him go, sighed, and took a moment to appreciate the fact he was still alive, while a single thought echoed in his head. 

Man, _fuck_ his Ancestor with a rusty fork. 

  


* * *

  


Equius heard Eridan’s voice, muffled by the walls but not enough to mask the sheer roaring fury behind his tone, and didn’t stop until he burst through the door. He wasn’t entirely sure what he could accomplish by that, but the thought – along with any other thought – died as soon as he made out the scene in front of him. 

Eridan was screaming profanity and wordless rage as he shook a shorter, thinner troll by the neck, his head bobbling back and forth. The man was taking the punishment with surprising aplomb, staring at Eridan’s face with a vaguely amused smile that couldn’t possibly be doing his situation any favors. Further back, Lord Imoogi was sitting on their favorite chair, skirts unruffled around them as they shared a plate of sweets with the girl, not minding that she was still dripping wet and spreading that wetness onto everything she touched. The stranger saw him first, though, and sighed as if Eridan’s abuse was little more than a momentary annoyance. He pushed the seadweller off him with a careless hand on his face, ignoring the fact Eridan gave in and bit him with a vengeance. 

“Settle down,” he said, dry and deadpan enough to give Eridan’s previous tone a run for his money, “you’re making a scene and we have an audience.” 

“I’m gonna—“ 

“Sit down, drink tea and eat some fucking cookies,” Harlow said, voice stern and deep with something that made Equius shiver. Eridan glowered for a moment. And then walked stiffly to where Lord Imoogi sat, served himself a cup of tea, and began munching on a cookie with extreme prejudice. “As for you,” he added, turning to face Equius with a narrowed glare, just as Equius began to question the wisdom of his presence in the block, “if you’re already here, we can get this boring conversation out of the way, so Lord Imoogi and myself can go back to getting drunk and mocking you your stupidity. Serket,” and Shaula was there, without light or ceremony, sitting on thin air before she plopped down into the floor with a soft oof, “you might as well be here too.” 

Equius, who was in the process of sitting next to Eridan, stared in perplexed, terrified silence as someone who was very much not Vriska slowly picked herself off the floor, brushing invisible lint off the ridiculous clothes she wore. 

“I wish you didn’t feel the urge to do that,” the woman said, lips pursed into an angry line, “I wish so fucking _hard_ you wouldn’t do that. Ever.” She scoffed. “Bastard.” 

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Eridan muttered sullenly, and then offered a wry smile when he shared a look with her. “Sollux is here, too,” he added, as he patted the seat at his other side and the Serket woman sauntered over to take her place. When Harlow stared at him, uncomprehendingly, Eridan sighed. “Captor,” he said, shrugging, “the Doom kid.” 

“I am most certainly not a kid, doomed or not,” Sollux’s voice echoed, as he found himself appearing atop Garfit’s desk. 

“Yes, you are,” Eridan, Harlow and Garfit echoed in sync, not even looking at each other. 

“But yes,” Sollux went on, ignoring them all, “I’m here.” 

“Four out of twelve is not that bad,” Harlow mused, taking a seat next to Garfit and closing the circle. “The less times I have to go through this, the better for my sanity.” He dutifully ignored Eridan’s unrepentant snort, and let out a tired smile, his expression turning surprisingly wry. “You might not know this, but your universe is ending. Very quickly, very permanently and not in a way you are at all expecting.” 

“What do you mean the universe is ending?” Sollux demanded, as Equius sat in terrified silence, unsure of why he had to be present at all for such kind of talk. “I mean, we’re not dumb grubs in a cave, we know what entropy is. But this isn’t about entropy, is it?” 

“There’s a Game Gods play, before they are Gods,” Eridan said, before Harlow could reply, sinking back into his chair and studiously not looking at anyone in the eye. “A Game of destruction and rebirth that consumes and perpetuates reality everywhere and everywhen.” He put down the cup, licking his lips. “They give up their own worlds, their own universe, as payment for the right to play this Game. Their worlds are _left behind_ ,” he said, pointedly not looking at Equius, “to be consumed by the void, scattered away to nothing, never to thrive again. But _if_ they win,” and Eridan’s tone made it clear how unlikely the odds were, at that. “Well, if they win they are given a _new_ universe, of their own making, to do with it as they please and rule over it as Gods.” 

“Witches,” Shaula said, quiet horror in her tone as she stared at Eridan through wide eyes. “You mean to tell me Witches played this game?” 

“They played, and they _won_ ,” Harlow said, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “But they were cheated of the ultimate reward. Your Gods were weakened, ravaged and left at the mercy of one who has none, reduced to pawns in a game board not of their own making. When they finally freed themselves from undue chains, when they were finally at the gate of their rightful realm, _your_ realm, your Gods were betrayed by their own, one of them stranded in the void beyond time and space, and the Interloper taking her rightful place, corrupting everything as her kind are wont to do.” 

“Psii killed the Interloper,” Eridan added, expression a fine mixture of age old misery and torn amusement, “as part of the Handmaid’s bid to remove the taint from this world.” He smiled, but the cracks were visible for anyone who cared to look. Equius noted, with a strange sort of hopeless rage, somewhere under his ribs, that Shaula reached out and entwined her fingers with Eridan’s as he spoke. “It didn’t work.” 

“Rather it did,” Harlow corrected him, licking his lips as his own smile turned vacant. “It just wasn’t a solution on its own, but the first step towards correcting what had been made wrong.” 

“The Imperial Lusus is dead,” Garfit said evenly, taking the news with aplomb that Equius envied them so keenly, “has been dead for more than a thousand sweeps now, even, and yet you say things are getting decidedly worse, rather than better now.” 

“Because your Gods are weak,” Sinann said, playing with a cookie in her small hands. “They’re falling apart, and the world is falling apart right along with them. The only reason they’re still alive is because you can’t kill a God in a world of their own making, Paradox Space refuses to let it happen all together.” 

“Just so,” Harlow nodded, “forty-eight Gods made this world, and it would take all forty-eight of them to save it, if they were whole and could be bothered to even try. Your Gods are weakened, cumbersome creatures; there’s little they can do now, and even that they refuse to do on principle. But reality is a sturdy thing, it resists going back into the void, when it’s not meant to. In the absence of strong Gods to support it, it has anchored itself onto Pillars who, while a poor substitute on the whole, since they are not Gods themselves, are helping keep things stable. Eridan,” Harlow nodded at the seadweller, who sighed softly and waved a glowing hand at the empty space at the center. Trails of light shifted and moved, until they formed a circle of glowing sigils that Shaula recognized as the Witches’ own, along with that strange one Eridan commanded. Then a smaller circle appeared in the center, twelve dots of various colors that shifted as Eridan twitched his hand and became very familiar faces. “The world is ending, either way, because the Pillars are mortal, weak things themselves, but if they’re killed, the world will end that much faster, before any attempts can be properly made to save it.” 

Equius stared at the ghostly impression of his face, feeling something rolling dangerously close to nausea in his gut. The others were familiar as well, though most of them looked like they had, a thousand sweeps ago, when Eridan last saw them. He swallowed hard, the sound echoing in the oppressive, stunned silence all around them. 

“Why us?” 

Eridan smiled. It was not, on the whole, a very kind smile. 

“Because in another world, in another life, _we_ were the fucking idiots who decided to play the stupid Game.” He snorted. “Paradox Space likes that sort of continuity.” 

“Is this why you said you couldn’t be killed?” Sollux asked, voice no longer quite as mocking as it’d been, and Eridan found himself smiling against all odds, because it was a nice reminder that the moronic twit was still watching his back, even now. “Before?” 

“No,” Eridan sighed. “ _I_ can’t be killed, currently. Well, not unless you try really hard, with all the right tools. But I can die, all the same, under a certain set of parameters. And you lot are very much killable, which, as we’ve established, would be really fucking _bad_ , for the time being.” 

“That is very good news, for Lord Makara,” Garfit murmured, expression reluctantly amused as they refilled their cup. “Though I admit I had never heard of an execution being rejected on the basis that killing the criminal would doom all reality to death.” 

Equius stared at his Lord, as he had not, in fact, known about the current state of affairs regarding the Grand Highblood. He felt rather silly, for the yearning to not know much about this matter either, as he folded his clammy fingers together and pretended he wasn’t going to be ill. 

“Oh god, and what did the stupid clown even _do_ now?” Eridan asked, with a sort of horrified expectancy that made Equius want to scream. 

“You mean Makara as in, Lord Makara the Grand Highblood?” Shaula choked on her drink, as the pieces fell in place and she stared at them all with a haunted, horrified look. “The Lord of the Subjugglator Faithful? _That_ Makara?” 

“It doesn’t matter for now,” Garfit said, waving her and Eridan’s questions with a dismissive twitch of their hand. “I should think the world ending has considerably more priority at the moment.” They turned to face Harlow with a small frown. “You have a plan, I expect?” 

“A bargain, more like,” Harlow said, eyes dark. “A bargain and a promise.” 

“And a grudge,” Eridan snorted, shaking his head. “Can’t forget the fucking grudge, now, can we?” 

Harlow offered them all a thin, bitter smile. 

“No, of course not.” 

  


* * *

  


Loud, obnoxious beeping interrupted the scene, causing the entire population of the bar to shift gears and focus on the two sources of the sound. One, the tealblood that had, up until that point, grinned unrepentantly as she cleaned table after table of hopeful card players. The second came from a small, unassuming girl sipping a beer at the bar. 

“Is it just me,” Nepeta said, looking over at Terezi with a put upon expression on her face, “or did Sollux tell you to go home too?” 

Terezi gave her communicator a thoughtful lick, ignoring the way the people around them shifted and prepared to strike, because this was a pirate and outlaw bar, and any connections to the Empire were not in the least bit welcome. Also because Terezi had been clearing tables for nearly two hours as it was and people were ticked about that as well. 

“It would seem so,” she said, arching both eyebrows. “Highest body count gets to decide?” 

Nepeta hopped off her perch and four trolls and two aliens fell to the floor at her feet, gutted. 

“You don’t want to play that game with me,” she said, grinning and eyes dancing with mischief. “And you and I both know we’re definitely not backing out at this point.” 

Terezi’s cane blade glinted as more bodies hit the ground, and the yelling started in earnest. 

“I thought you liked playing games,” Terezi sighed, slowly making her way to the exit by leaving behind bleeding, screaming people who were not smart enough to run away. “Even if it was just pretend.” 

“I do!” Nepeta giggled, dodging a strike to her head and then twisting with her momentum to slam her foot on the offender’s face, sending him flying into the wall. “But it’s never fun to play a game you know, right off the bat, you’re gonna win. I like variety! And excitement!” 

“It must be so boring,” Terezi chuckled, finally dodging a few strikes herself, “you being so terribly good at all the games you play.” 

“It’s not so bad,” the smaller woman said, sidestepping the bite of a blade and slicing a gun to pieces with a flick of her wrist, her metal claws glistening with blood. “There’s always new games to play!” 

Terezi made a thoughtful noise, and smirked at the crowd gathered outside. The tiny planet was little more than a waystation for all sorts of unlawful denizens of the Fringe. They did not appreciate agents of the Empire in their midst. 

“I like the old classics just fine, myself.” 

The Fringe would survive, with one less den of inequity and illegality around, she was sure, and set out to play one of her favorite games. Nepeta laughed and did much the same. 

  


* * *

  


“You’re doing a good job.” 

Eridan startled. When Lord Imoogi had requested he stayed behind, after the entirety of their plan – or the scraps of a plan they had – had been explained, he’d expected to be yelled at. Mostly because Lord Imoogi truly despised rude behavior and Eridan had sort of maybe stormed the block in the first place, to strangle Harlow a bit. He found himself staring at the older – were they even older than him, anymore? Eridan shuddered and refused to consider the possibility – troll, fidgeting somewhat. 

“Given the circumstances,” Garfit went on, arching an eyebrow as Eridan dropped his fins back, ducking his head. “It occurs to me that no one might have told you this. You’re doing a good job.” 

“I’m not,” Eridan sighed, dropping into the chair with a strangled laugh. He buried his face into his hands. “I’m really, really _not_. Like, in the whole history of jobs done in the whole wide entirety of Paradox Space, nothing I’ve done can be called anything remotely resembling a good job. I’m doing fantastically shitty and I want to quit. But I literally can’t at this point, so I’m making up as I go.” 

Garfit watched him for a moment, this silly, silly child who was a child no longer, and had brought so much glory and heartbreak to his bloodline. They ran his fingers through Eridan’s hair, making him startle and peek up through his fingers, twitching anxiously. Garfit offered a marginally indulgent smile. 

“That is precisely the definition of a job well done,” they said, hooking a finger on a horn and nudging Eridan to stand. He did so reluctantly, as Garfit instead poked at his shoulder until he straightened his back. “You are doing a good job, Eridan, it has not gone unnoticed. And I am proud of you for it.” 

Eridan looked like he wanted to cry, but the moment he tried to slouch forward, Garfit poked his shoulder sharply again with an exquisitely lacquered claw in gold and purple. He let out a shuddery breath, swallowing hard. 

“All I ever wanted was to stop fucking shit up,” he admitted, looking at his feet. “And I am so, so tired of fucking up and having to pick up the pieces.” 

“Nonetheless,” Garfit insisted, eyebrows arched and expression painfully kind in a way that made Eridan want to curl up and cry until he died, “you are making the best of the circumstances, and in doing so you are doing a good job with the task you’ve been entrusted.” Something almost teasing twitched at the corner of their mouth, making their eyes glint. “You’re taking lusushood rather better than I did.” 

Eridan stared and then cracked up laughing and in an impossible moment of impulse, reached out and wrapped his arms around the old Lord. Garfit let out a soft sound of surprise at the motion, but rather than shoving Eridan away – which they probably should have, Eridan realized point two seconds after his arms wrapped around Garfit’s waist – they wrapped their own around Eridan’s back. 

“I am so tired and so fucking done,” Eridan muttered, sagging against the tacit approval of the hug. He’d been needing a hug forever, he realized, with another wave of hysterical chuckling, clinging somewhat. “I just want it to be over, at this point I don’t even care _how_.” 

“You are doing a good job,” Garfit insisted, patting Eridan’s back. “But you must stop selling yourself short. One is never entrusted a destiny one cannot manage. If your destiny is too grand, it means so is your potential.” 

Eridan broke free of the hug with an ugly laugh, stepping back to give Garfit a disbelieving look. Garfit countered it with an arched eyebrow and an almost taunting smile. 

“Respectfully,” Eridan said, carefully, “and bearing in mind this is by no means an attempt to call you a liar, I’m calling bullshit on that, Sir. And my evidence,” he added hurriedly, before Garfit could explain that yes, that was essentially calling them a liar, “is exhibit fucking A. _Me_.” 

Garfit scoffed, amused. Eridan found himself grinning somewhat, because for all he knew better than _not_ to fear Lord Imoogi, he also knew damn well that the old Lord had a considerably large soft spot for him. He hadn’t asked about Levtan – he wasn’t even sure he _wanted_ to, at this point – but he found a strange sort of pleasure in realizing the playfulness he’d always received from Garfit had not eroded away with the sweeps. 

“I reject your evidence,” Garfit declared, in that snotty, poised tone that they only used when addressing particularly obnoxious Lords who didn’t really understand their place in the food chain. “On the grounds that I disagree with your assessment of it. You have fifteen hours to come up with another piece of evidence to sustain that claim, or I’ll be dismissing it and publicly announcing to the world that you are in fact doing a good job.” 

Eridan wrinkled his nose and risked his neck – literally – as he scowled at Garfit and said, in a terribly put upon voice: 

“You _suck_.” 

His judgment of Garfit’s mood had not been wrong, he realized, when they smirked, flashing a crooked fang. Literal centuries fell off their face as they did, rendering them not quite the fabled, all powerful Lord that ruled the Empire from the shadows and the Fringe with an iron hand, but a rather devious creature that no one had yet figured out how to tame. Eridan, nonetheless, regretted his outburst, because the reply it earned him was thus: 

“I thought you didn’t care much to hear the details about my relationship with your Ancestor, boy.” 

He shuddered theatrically, making a disgusted mock sobbing sound in the back of his throat. Garfit deigned to laugh, amused, and irrationally, Eridan wanted to hug them again. Because he’d fucked up, he’d fucked up beyond the scope of what had even seemed possible to fuck up, but his world wasn’t wholly barren. He had places, tiny and secret, where he belonged. 

Places where people thought he wasn’t quite the monumental fuck up he knew himself to be. 

“Can I go now?” He whined, attempting to slouch and then stopping mid motion as Garfit arched an eyebrow at him. Eridan forced himself to stand up straight, to his full height, awkward as that felt. “Please?” 

“If you want,” Garfit sighed, and turned back to their desk, “or you could stay and tell me about your grub, if you’d prefer.” 

Eridan opened his mouth to argue that Sinann was neither a grub nor in any conceivable way _his_ , and then realized what the invitation truly meant. He snorted and folded his arms over his chest, mouth twisting into a reluctant, wry smirk. 

“I will if you tell me how the hell you ended up saddled with my descendant, Sir,” he offered, eyebrows arched in an expression he’d first learned from Garfit themselves. 

Garfit chuckled. 

“If I must,” they said, motioned for Eridan to sit. 

Eridan sat, and ranted and listened, and by the end of it all, felt like maybe – just maybe – he wasn’t quite as doomed to failure as he’d originally felt. 

  


* * *

  


Equius scowled thunderously when he found himself staring at Harlow, sitting on his desk and smoking a long, thin pipe. Part of him – the rational, conscious part – knew damn well the troll standing before him was a force to be reckoned with and his many unexplained powers were not to be trifled with. The rest of him was annoyed and frustrated, not entirely in the right frame of mind to deal with the situation gracefully. 

And then Harlow blew a ring of smoke right into his face, and Equius found himself trying to glare and cough at the same time. 

“You’re an idiot, Zahhak,” Harlow said placidly, licking his pipe with a wide smirk, “I understand this to be a heirloom of your clade,” he went on, in a tone that made Equius shiver and stare, “but you truly are a magnificent idiot even by such standards.” 

“Leave,” Equius said, voice rough and sharp, color blooming high on his cheeks as he tried, ineffectively, to glower. 

“Sure,” Harlow laughed, pushing himself off the desk with a grin, pipe caught between his teeth. “Does not change the fact that you’re an idiot, though.” 

He walked past Equius without looking back, hands stuck in the pockets of his pants and posture mocking. Equius stared as he did, clearly not having expected actual cooperation from the man. And he scowled darkly, eyebrows twitching in annoyance, as he realized he had no reason to do so. He took a deep breath, taking into consideration every scrap of cursed knowledge that had been thrust upon him during that unfortunate talk, and let out a very frustrated sigh. 

“Wait,” he said, just as Harlow reached the door. Equius’ scowl darkened as Harlow didn’t bother to turn fully to face him, instead looking at him over his shoulder. Equius resisted the urge to grind his teeth. “Why do you think I am an idiot?” 

Harlow grinned, turning around lazily as he let out another ring of smoke, eyes dancing. 

“Because you’re hiding from Eridan and leaking Void everywhere you go,” Harlow explained, eyebrows arched, “instead of just talking with him and straightening out your shit.” 

Equius stared. 

“I am leaking _what_?” 

Harlow waved dismissingly. 

“Do yourself a favor,” he said instead, blowing another ring of smoke at Equius’ face, “and be the first Zahhak who actually stopped running away from everything.” 

While Equius spluttered, trying to find something coherent to say, Harlow stepped outside. But when Equius reached out to try and force the bothersome man to explain himself, he was gone. Something wet and oozy dripped down the vents on the ceiling of the block, the sound almost inquisitive. Equius closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and glared at them darkly. 

“Do not,” he said, “dealing with you is the last thing I need today.” 

The petulant gurgle did nothing for his frayed nerves, more so when his messages to Nepeta went unanswered and he realized he was going to have to deal with the situation wholly on his own. 

  


* * *

  


“I hate being right,” Shaula said, slumping into Camila’s lap with a loud sigh. 

The Nun clicked her tongue, amused, and pulled her Captain into laying more comfortably against her. Shaula sulked, but did not protest the claws running through her hair as she rested her chin on the swell of one of Camila’s breasts. The block she’d been given had been decent enough, of course, but she couldn’t really appreciate it. Being back aboard an Imperial ship was just nerve-wrecking, and the entire mess she’d somehow found herself stuck in wasn’t helping any with the urge to just pack up her crew and hightail the fuck out of there. 

She had the sinking feeling she’d been roped into it for the long term, and while she didn’t exactly oppose the idea of sticking around and helping Eridan, she most certainly opposed the idea of letting Harlow continue to order her around, giving Garfit the faintest impression that she gave a shit about their status or anything else that would, undoubtedly, end up with her in a very tight, very unpleasant spot. 

She couldn’t very well run away now, though, not so much because of what she’ d been told, but because she’d been given a direct order from the Bard of Light, to aid Eridan in his ridiculously stupid quest for existence or some shit. 

And Shaula Serket was many, many things, most of them unflattering, but she was not about to break her oath to her ruling God. 

“No, you don’t,” Camila said, amused, as she scratched the base of a horn with a claw and Shaula found herself almost purring on reflex. “You love nothing more than being right all the time.” 

“Except when being right sucks!” Shaula snorted, swatting at the hand molesting her horn, and making Camila chuckle at her for her antics. “This is serious shit, here.” 

Camila arched her shoulders, nonchalant. 

“Shit has been serious since you went and took a job for the Sage,” she said, tapping on Shaula’s nose playfully. “And I won’t even say _I told you so_ , because I’m really not in the mood to get stabbed.” 

Shaula scoffed loudly and then shifted, nearly stabbing Camila’s throat in the process with her horns, until she was sulking mightily in her lap. 

“What was I supposed to do?” She asked, sarcasm thick. “Tell him no? He’s the fucking _Sage_.” 

“I know,” Camila sighed, leaning in to rest her head atop Shaula’s, “rock and a hard place, I get it. All I be saying now is that you need to chill, for real, and look at shit objectively. Change what you can, gather the strength to endure what you can’t, and all that shit. The fact the Peacock hasn’t outright tried to kill you is a good sign. They’re not known for their patience.” Camila actually shuddered somewhat. “Or their mercy.” 

Shaula tilted her head up, forehead pressed against Camila’s chin. She scowled and tugged on a dread, childishly. 

“Who the fuck even _is_ that douchebag, anyway?” She snorted. “All Eridan told me was not to piss them off. And okay, sure, they might look the part, but I’m pretty sure all Lords are stuffy old goats.” 

Camila sighed, rolling her eyes. She sometimes forgot, really, that Shaula wasn’t wholly raised _troll_. And yes, they had never thought they’d return to the Empire, so it never really mattered, but now here they were, and the gaps in knowledge were somewhat startling. Really, if Camila hadn’t believed in destiny, she would have killed this stupid, endearing brat so many times over already. Then again, maybe she was being unfair. She was much older than Shaula, and she’d actually earned her rosaries long before the current Empress – if it was still the same Empress that had been in power when they left, anyway, which was very likely – rose to the throne. She remembered those sweeps fondly, because there had been much wisdom and faith to deliver, in the Fringe, and it had made her heart sing to leave behind altars to the Messiahs everywhere she went. 

“There used to be a saying, in the Fringe,” Camila explained, smile lopsided as she curled a finger in Shaula’s hair. “If they’re smart, they still have it, but I wouldn’t know. It goes something like this: The Empress wears the crown, but the Peacock rules the Empire. I don’t know if that was true, in the Inner Rim, but it was certainly true in the Fringe. Because even if we were all nominally sworn to the Empress, if we said the words and bowed, we went about our business and let her become some abstract ideal. A name more than a real thing.” Camila smiled nastily, teeth bared. “Whereas the Peacock was always there, and no matter what you did in the Fringe, where you went and who you talked to, they were always there. Their troops and their banners and their planet-destroying ship. So yes, they do look the part, but they’ve very much earned it. And you’d do well not to piss them off.” 

“I could take that as a challenge,” Shaula said, petulant. 

“But you won’t,” Camila replied, tugging at her hair sharply. “Because I am very old and very wise and I’d loathe to die like a common fool, trying to fight the Peacock Lord to avenge my idiot of a Captain.” She arched both eyebrows tauntingly. “You wouldn’t do that to me.” 

Shaula stared at her for a moment, measuring and taunting, but eventually chuckled, shaking her head. 

“Of course I wouldn’t,” she relented in the end, “I’m not the kind of shitty Captain that leaves her crew to fight her battles for her.” 

  


* * *

  


It took Equius a couple false starts and some awkward swearing, before he finally made his way to Eridan’s quarters – _temporary_ quarters, his mind supplied venomously – to finish the talk they’d started and never finished. He still had half a mind to run away screaming, but he contained himself and instead knocked politely on the door and didn’t bolt as soon as Eridan opened the door. Eridan stared up at him, warily, before finally stepping back and letting him in, without a word. Equius took the tacit invitation and took advantage of the precious extra seconds he had, to figure out what the hell to say. 

“So,” Eridan said, after a long, long moment, dropping unceremoniously on the couch, fins twitching somewhat. The block had been cleared out, however, from the remnants of the _Anansi_ crew and their impromptu party to celebrate their continued existence. “I realize I kinda went and stole your fucking thunder back there, but. You can start yelling now, if it’ll make you feel better.” 

Equius made a wounded noise in the back of his throat and crossed the distance in three strides, sitting down across the small table from where Eridan sat. He fidgeted somewhat, realized he was doing so, and instead held his hands tightly in place, choosing not to look at Eridan in the face. 

“While there are… many things I would like to say to you,” he began, congratulating himself on a job well done when his voice didn’t crack as horribly as it could have, “I feel I have done a disservice to the vows I so brazenly brought up before, by assuming rather than waiting for an explanation.” He swallowed hard, staring intently at Eridan’s hands, lest he was forced to look at Eridan’s face. “I want to believe I would have honored my vows, if you had called upon them. I won’t deny I was… pissed as all hell,” Equius hurried out the words, but found himself smiling lightly as Eridan choked on a laugh at the wording, “to use an expression you’re painfully familiar with, when I discovered something was afoot. But that does not justify me thinking the absolute worst of you, without any real knowledge of what was actually happening at the time. So on that regard, I feel I must apologize.” 

Eridan let out a sharp breath, fingers curling on the couch as his claws dug in and threatened to slash the material. He leaned back slowly, curling his back to make himself appear smaller than he actually was. 

“I am, in fact, the fucking worst,” he said, because he had a _choice_ , to either take the easy way out or face the music, and he was so fucking tired of making the wrong one it made him physically ill. “I am objectively the worst shitbag in the history of trollkind as a whole, you don’t even know the half of it. I should have told you about it, I should have trusted you. I didn’t. I refuse the apology on the grounds there’s nothing to apologize for.” 

“Eridan,” Equius said, quiet, voice small and horrified, “I _believed_ them when they said you were aiming to kill the Heiress. I was selfish enough to think the reason you wouldn’t take me along was because you were aiming to commit such an unspeakable crime.” He peered at Eridan over the rim of his shades. “I wasn’t there, near the end, to help you or bring you home. I was there to _put you down_ if you had done the unspeakable. My lack of faith was unforgivable.” 

Eridan laughed a nasty, ugly laugh, passing air through clenched teeth as he smiled a sneer and studiously looked away. 

“I _was_ going to,” he confessed, raw and terrible, and felt the fabric rip under his claws as the stuffing spilled out through his fingers. “I hated her for existing, for starting this whole fucking mess, and I had her there. Right fucking there.” He let out another laugh, finally letting go of the ruined couch to press his fingers against his face, particularly on the eyepatch that was throbbing quite strongly again. “And I couldn’t fucking even do _that_.” 

Equius took the revelation in stride, staring at Eridan and trying to see his jagged corners as he remembered, but instead realizing that time – so much fucking time – had somehow rearranged them all in new, infuriating ways that were utterly foreign to him. He licked his lips and shrugged delicately, hair rustling. 

“It is even more noteworthy, that you withstood temptation,” he said shortly, looking away. “It doesn’t matter if you wanted to, but that you actually _didn’t_.” 

“Kid would be better off dead, really,” Eridan snorted, leaning back and hooking his elbows on the backrest of the couch, trying to project himself as bigger than he really was, even though his first instinct was still to curl up and will himself to disappear. “I mean fuck, she had to deal with me for a lusus. That shit’s fucked up, no matter how you look at it.” 

“Regardless—“ 

“I’m still not taking that apology, no matter what you say,” Eridan interrupted, shrugging. “So let’s move on to the next point in the agenda, okay? Tell me what else I fucked up and I’ll… fuck, I don’t know, I’ll apologize and try to make it better, or something.” He offered a wry smile. “That or I’ll let you punch me until you feel better, deal?” 

Equius stared and stared and found himself deeply ashamed of his own flare of temper. The frustration and the anger were still there, he was startled to realize, but their focus had shifted to a different target. He’d realized, as the machinations going on behind the curtain were explained, that perhaps the reason Eridan had not told anyone of his plans was that to do so would end up removing a second Pillar from the world, to use the bizarre terminology in place. Equius was not, despite it all, stupid. He’d learned to see the world through the eyes of strategy and careful planning, under the tutelage of the wise, ruthless Lords and Ladies he’d served in his life. He understood that if he was meant to stand at the top, he needed to forsake petty, childish concerns. There were greater things in life, that all that had personally slighted him. He knew this. He was supposed to know better. 

But he found to his absolute displeasure that Eridan Ampora still had the ability to make him lose focus of his place in the world, and his unresolved feelings for the man had festered for far too long to be truly rational about them anymore. He still wanted Eridan to explain himself, at some point, to tell him exactly why he’d been left behind and justify his decision to ignore all Equius had done for and because of him, up until that point. Because that wound was too old and too half-scarred, to go unignored. But he could not afford to be a child about this. He hadn’t been a child in so very long, as it was. 

“I would very much like it if you would explain exactly what you’ve been doing, during this time,” Equius said, rubbing the knuckle of his left thumb with his right, “although I am also perfectly aware I am no longer entitled to such things.” 

“Equius—“ 

“Particularly after I’ve wronged you like I have,” he added in a soft whoosh of air, forcing the words out before he lost his nerve. Eridan stared at him, frowning. Of course he didn’t understand, no one had told him, probably. Equius himself had never explained why. The only one who might have puzzled it all together was Captor, and he seemed very keen on rejoicing in having Eridan back, to bother with trivial things like the horrible things Equius had done in his absence. Equius gave into the urge and bowed his head, hiding his face behind his hair in the way that made Lord Imoogi threaten to cut it all off. Lord Imoogi wasn’t present at the moment, however. “Agness is dead, Eridan. She died under my command.” No, that wasn’t exactly it, was it? Equius did not look up, did not put a face to the sound Eridan made, sharp and stunned. “I lie. She exchanged her life for mine.” 

For a painful eternity, Eridan said nothing. Equius found himself nearly consumed by that pit of self-loathing and inadequacy that centuries under Lord Imoogi had not been enough to quench. He felt the urge to run away, to go back to hiding away from his own mistakes and his own responsibilities. But he couldn’t, not when Eridan had shown remarkable willingness to own up to his own share. 

“Oh,” Eridan said, at length, and his voice sounded wet in a way that tore at Equius’ memory, stirring up all sorts of half-forgotten moments he’d promised himself he didn’t need to keep and hadn’t actually discarded in the end. “How…” Eridan swallowed hard, sounding not angry at all, only sad. Equius wished keenly he would rage about this, would lash out and take it out on him, so his conscience could finally be cleared. “How did she die?” 

Equius realized he’d never actually had this conversation with anyone but Nepeta. Everyone else had known, of course, and then he’d found himself on leave, hiding in a ruinous space station in the Fringe when the summons from Lord Imoogi themselves came and he found himself entangled in their service. He closed his eyes and felt his skin prickle with panic and old hatred, as the sensations and the memories rushed back all at once. 

“We were ambushed, deep in the Truvian front,” Equius said, opening his eyes and trying to dispel the clear-cut images behind his eyelids. “I… I led very poorly, and the battle was a slaughter. The _Morrigan_ and most of my personal fleet was lost, in the aftermath of that disaster.” He offered Eridan a very thin, very bitter smile. “She could have saved herself, as it turns out. But she chose not to.” Equius fiddled with a strand of hair, refusing to look at Eridan in the eye. “ _Keep him safe_ , she said, and then she went back to running my ship for me. Before I knew it, it was over.” He looked up at the ceiling, and sighed, beckoning with a hand as bright lime green slime began dripping onto the floor. “I woke up three perigees later, and it’s never left my side since.” 

Equius braced himself and waited for the rage and the screaming, but it didn’t come. He looked up, and immediately wished he hadn’t, as he found Eridan staring at the slime monstrosity with a delicately wistful look on his face. 

“She never forgave me,” Equius added, as Eridan remained silent, “for not trusting you like I should have. _She never forgave me_ , and she still gave up her life for me.” 

Eridan startled Equius as he laughed, sharp and sudden. Despite the wetness in his eye, he was smiling sadly. Equius felt a pang of resentment over that, for being denied the condemnation he knew damn well he deserved, from the last person alive to give it. He wanted Eridan angry at him, furious for his failure as he himself had been, so he could offer his exile and his penance to be judged. 

“Agness never did forgive a slight,” Eridan said softly, brushing away the tears with the back of a hand. “It just wasn’t her nature. And it’s not your fault she decided to get even in the end.” 

“I deserve—“ 

“Fucking look at me, Zahhak,” Eridan snapped, that bitter laugh ringing like poison in Equius’ ears. “Do I look like someone who can judge you on what you do and don’t deserve?” And then he pulled off the eyepatch, baring his face to Equius’ horrified eyes. “I made a deal, on the other side, for a chance to come home. Because I fucked up, and then made it worse when I tried to fix it. That’s my running theme, here. And that’s also entirely my fault.” 

Where his left eye should have been, Equius saw with growing dread, only a web of pale scars remained, surrounding rather crude attempts to sew the shredded eyelid shut. The scars on Eridan’s face paled in comparison to the monument to cruelty hiding behind the eyepatch, and Equius’ stomach rolled unpleasantly at all the unfortunate possibilities behind how it could have happened. 

“I am angry at you,” Equius said, forcing himself not to look away. “I have been angry at you for so long I do not even know if I can conceivably stop.” 

Eridan’s mouth twitched into a smirk, strangely familiar on the sheer unfamiliarity of his uneven, marred face. Something inside Equius throbbed, and he couldn’t quite put a name to it. 

“That’s fair,” he said, shrugging lightly, “feelings are dumb and irrational, that much I do know. And I fucked up, royally, and this isn’t what I bargained for, but it’s the shit we’ve got to deal with. I’m willing to deal with it, if you are.” 

Equius was most certainly not willing to do such a thing. But he dutifully opened his mouth and prepared to deliver an agreement that he wasn’t sure he really meant, when Sollux’s voice interrupted his attempt. 

“Look, I get this is a very touching and emotional moment for you both, but shit just kinda hit the fan so you are just gonna have to reschedule the rest of this disgustingly awkward Blame Shifting Olympics event,” he said, voice echoing all around the block. Equius frowned, even as Eridan cracked an awkward laugh and shoved the eyepatch back in place, hiding the worst of the damage done to his face. “Big ol' green, winged and mean just found Gamzee.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote at the beginning by Suzanne Collins, _The Hunger Games_.


	7. VI: The Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **Notes from Fi:**_ Oh no, these idiots. Someone stop them, please.
> 
>  _ **Notes from Rie:**_ Behold the rare sight of Eridan being something vaguely approaching cool! Sadly we won't be seeing that for a while again, since we're moving onto the greener pastures of Sheer Fucking Awkward starting next chapter. Whoops.

  


* * *

  


_To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved._

  


* * *

  


“Do _not_ touch anything,” Shaula snapped, glaring darkly at Equius and Levtan as she walked briskly towards the hangar were the _Anansi_ floated lazily, waiting. “And I do mean _anything_.” 

“She is prone to hyperbole,” Sydney explained, offering both a comforting expression that went wholly unappreciated, what with the fact Sydney unfortunately had entirely too many fangs in a configuration wholly unfamiliar to most trolls, “but just this once, I do think she means exactly what she says.” 

“You don’t have to come along,” Eridan muttered, somewhere between annoyed and self-conscious, slouching behind them with a dark look. 

“Lord Imoogi insisted,” Equius replied tersely, which made Levtan whimper a little in the back of his throat. 

Or maybe it was the fact they had reached the _Anansi_ and the boy was entirely unprepared to face the whale in its monstrous glory. Equius’ reaction was a short, sharp gasp that went ignored by all as the crew walked resolutely towards the glowing circle of light that appeared out of nowhere a few meters away from the whale’s nose. Eridan took his place behind Shaula, next to Camila, and found himself giving them both a defensive look as he folded his arms over his chest. He was not wholly prepared to involve anyone else in the business of the crew – _his_ crew, he thought with a jolt of possessive desperation – not after things had gone so poorly with Equius and the revelations still churning angrily in his gut. This was his safe haven, idealized into his last resort if everything else failed; the one place he could belong if it turned out he wasn’t welcome anywhere else. It was extremely unpleasant to have it invaded like this, and yet he couldn’t really argue because for all he was in Garfit’s good graces, he knew damn well how easily that could change. 

And what it might mean not just for him, but for his goddamn mission, if it happened. 

So Eridan took his place along the crew, deciding in the end to not pretend he didn’t belong with them, for the sake of staring at Equius and all but daring him to say something about it. Because honestly, what else could he have done? 

Equius stared at him and his defiance and found himself biting his tongue, trying to do the reasonable, responsible thing and not allow Eridan’s provocations to get him in trouble. He was here at Lord Imoogi’s insistence after all. He couldn’t afford to mess up. 

“Maybe they didn’t insist enough,” Levtan muttered, but swallowed back a sound of surprise when Equius roughly pulled him along into the circle. 

They were transported without much fanfare into the bridge, though Equius personally found the lurching sensation disagreeable. Levtan seemed to be trying to make himself as small as possible as he watched nervously the aliens and his Ancestor file into their places without much fuss. He pressed back into the wall behind him, and squeaked in surprise when it turned out to be a pillar – a pillar seemingly made of _flesh_ – connected to an orb easily the size of his head that light up ominously as the whale made a displeased rumble and began to move. Levtan scrambled back as he realized the niche behind the bridge was full of such pillars, all of them different sizes and colors, which seemed to react as the whale glided across the empty hangar towards the gate. 

“Captor,” Shaula snapped, voice sharp enough to draw Levtan back to his senses and realize he was about to poke one of those orbs with a claw, “where the hell are we even going?” 

Shaula was very clearly not pleased to have been roped to rescue the Grand Highblood, much less when it involved having outsiders in her ship. She might have argued against Harlow – she was still mildly hungover and could justify the suicidal impulse based on that – but then Lord I-Am-A-Fucking-Jerkass Imoogi stuck their powdered nose into it and by the time Eridan started to gently coax her to agree, she’d known she was fighting a losing battle. And frankly, she was too fucking awesome to stick to fights she knew she couldn’t win. So now there she was, watching Eridan carefully maneuver the whale out of the _Deathfowl_ , preparing to go out and do an errand for _trolls_. 

“You want to go three sectors down past the red dwarf in M’lean-Tes II,” Captor’s voice echoed through the bridge, partially muffled by static because there were bound to be some hiccups, trying to properly connect with the Imperial Network. “There’s a magnificent ship graveyard there, you can’t miss it.” 

Shaula stared blankly straight ahead for long enough that Camila and Eridan shared a snort and a mildly amused side look. 

“I think it’s really fucking cute how you think that means absolutely fucking anything to any of us,” he said, clicking his tongue as he raised the whale along the reinforced plating of the _Deathfowl_ , aiming to pull entirely away from it. “I mean, shit, even if I hadn’t been gone so long, Sol, I was an admin, remember?” Eridan rolled his eyes “Now I drive a fucking space whale around.” 

Equius watched the exchange with a deep frown, arms tightly folded over his chest and a kernel of dread churning in his guts. It was disconcerting, to see Eridan and Sollux bantering like they used to, without any real bite behind the words. Like no time had passed, at all. But then, Equius had never really been well-versed in the complexities of their friendship. He felt a strange yearning, almost jealousy, for that, and then stomped on the urge and focused instead on the proceedings on a technical level. He was still skeptical of the idea that the whale was a ship and ran on magic, more so when the bridge seemed so technological itself. It was a good distraction, anyway, from letting himself wonder why Lord Imoogi had seemed so tense at the idea of sending him along to see the Grand Highblood. There were things his Lord didn’t tell him, and Equius had learned to understand it was always for the better that it was so, but it was in his nature to fret. 

"Well fuck you,” Sollux snapped, deadpan, “I’ll just send you a map. Oh wait no, I _can’t_. Because your fucking weird ass _whale_ runs on _magic_ , not computers.” 

Levtan choked on a hysterical giggle as the _Anansi_ floated outside the range of the _Deathfowl_ , unhurried. He was summarily ignored. 

“Do not bad mouth my whale, Captor,” Shaula said, in that same, commanding tone that made Equius’ skin break out on nervous goosebumps. She was not Vriska; he knew conceptually that she was not Vriska. But that only made her all the more dangerous, to the baser sides of his mind that concerned themselves with basic survival instincts. “I _will_ fuck you up.” 

“She will, Sol,” Eridan laughed, leaning back on his seat with a smug smirk. “She absolutely will. I almost kinda wanna see it happen but I also sorta kinda like you too much to sic her on you.” 

Shaula reached from her perch overlooking the bridge and made to kick Eridan’s head, down at her left. 

“I am your _Captain_ , Douchefins, do not talk about me like I’m some sort of pet,” she sniffed disdainfully, and Equius couldn’t, for the life of him, tell if she was joking or not. “ _I_ will sic _you_ on others, not the other way around.” She cracked a short, taunting laugh that did Equius’ nerves no favors. “For fuck’s sake, basic chain of command at work!” 

“Aye, Captain, my Captain,” Eridan replied, saluting mockingly. 

“Will you just fucking _drive_?” Levtan snapped, fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket and glaring darkly at his Ancestor’s relative good mood. 

“When I figure out where to, sure!” Eridan snapped back, one eyebrow arched. 

“Fuck it, I’m giving directions to the warships,” Sollux said after a moment, as a flock of them appeared in the main display, exiting the Deathfowl to swarm around them. “Just follow the warships; you’re not that far away.” 

Equius wished he hadn’t mentioned that, because it reminded him that Lord Imoogi had ordered a FTL jump to the sector where the Grand Highblood was holed up in, and he couldn’t really remember the last time his Lord had actually used the _Deathfowl_ ’s FTL capabilities. 

“The warships are slow as fuck,” Eridan groused as the small fleet shot away and he nudged his controls to have the _Anansi_ follow them. 

“Yes, but the warships actually know where to go,” Sollux explained patiently, “and you might need the backup to wade through the ship graveyard and your winged friend.” 

“Have I mentioned this is a terrible idea, yet?” Shaula asked no one in particular. 

“ _Yes_ ,” several voices answered as one. 

“Good,” she sighed, rubbing her face with one hand. “Let’s go save the fucking murder clown.” 

  


* * *

  


“This is a terrible idea,” Sollux said, “on so many levels! I mean, I could try and explain why it’s such a piss poor idea, but it’s classified. So just do me a solid, Nitram, trust me and turn back.” 

Tavros surveyed the bridge, studying the attentive faces of his crew as they looked at him for guidance. It was, after all, no small thing, to have Lord Captor give a direct order. They might not know Sollux the way Tavros did, but they knew he was the Imperial Matesprit, and above all, they knew that more often than not, Lord Captor spoke the Empress’ will. And yet, they looked at him for guidance, put their trust in him, willing to follow even against someone so important. 

Tavros smiled and offered a small shrug. 

“Someone once told me,” he said, taking his seat at the head of the bridge, “that it’s, uh, better to ask forgiveness than, ah, permission.” He nodded at his crew. “So that’s exactly what I’m doing. And,” he paused, longer than usual, careful to take the time to look at each and every troll in the eye, “if you’d rather do the opposite, this is a great time, uh, to leave and stay with the rest of the fleet.” He waited, but no one moved. A few of them shook their heads, smiling. “If not? Then. Well, then let’s get going, the Fringe awaits!” 

  


* * *

  


They were keenly aware there was not much time to waste, lest the Cherub did away with Gamzee, and they knew they were at best a makeshift rescue mission. Eridan forgot all about the outsiders in the bridge, as he followed the warships into what Sollux had best termed a ship graveyard. The silence blanketed the bridge as they stared at the hundreds of thousands of ships strewn about, blacked out and inert. And for a moment they forgot about the urgency of their mission, a sense of deep unease spreading throughout them as they each tried to imagine what had caused such a thing to happen. The ships were whole, no visible damage done to them, not enough to explain why they were there or why they seemed to be all… dead. And they were all Subjugglator ships, each and every one of them, with the characteristic stripes and dots along the hulls, the Grand Highblood’s sign prominently decorating the undersides. 

Equius found himself clenching his teeth and holding onto his arms hard enough to leave bruises, a single, manic thought echoing in his mind, despite his best efforts to ignore it. 

Then there was an explosion from the other side of the sea of ships, and as Shaula barked an order, Equius felt the orbs in the back of the bridge flare to life as the _Anansi_ outran the warships escorting it and hurried along to find its prey. 

“Do we even have a plan?” Eridan asked, pulling and pushing at his controls as they dodged the floating wreckages in their way. “Or is this one that we make up as we go along?” 

“I have a plan,” Shaula assured him, drowning the monotone of Lazuli’s energy readings and Sydney’s squeaky commentary as he transmitted to the warships and tried to convince them to stay back. “It’s an easy, two-step plan. Step one, blast the motherfucker into next week. Step two; do not get blasted into next week by said motherfucker. Simple enough, yes?” 

“Make it up as we go along it is,” Eridan snorted, and then dived under a large battle cruiser before swerving left violently, when they unexpectedly came face to… well, snout with the Cherub. “Gotcha. Ed!” 

“Hold it,” Shaula snapped, before Ed could pull the trigger, causing Eridan to swerve again as the Cherub sliced the entire cruiser in half with a swipe of its arm. “Okay, we don’t know what’s up with the people in those ships and maneuverability is shit. Get us out of the maze and center a full power blast. Lazuli, will we still have enough energy for a second shot after that?” 

“Yes,” the diminutive alien said, “but not for much of anything after that.” 

Equius swore under his breath as a nearby ship was destroyed, and found himself staring as Eridan didn’t even flinch. Levtan, for his part, was busy clinging to Equius’ leg, claws slowly digging into skin, as he reconsidered every choice he’d ever made in his life, which had somehow landed him in this predicament. 

“Two shots it is,” Shaula laughed, a tad hysterical, as the _Anansi_ twisted around the debris, Cherub at its heels. “No pressure or anything. Nico.” 

“Yesss?” The reptilian creature looked up from his post, sideways so he could stare at Shaula through slit pupils. 

Shaula grinned. 

“Go back there and help Camila keep a lid on things. Put them to sleep if necessary,” she said, nodding at the door, “it ain’t gonna be pretty when they start dropping dead. Last thing we need is another goddamn riot.” 

“All of them?” If Nico had had eyebrows, he would have arched them. As it was, he flickered his tongue in the air, nervous. “Or just… non-essential personnel?” 

“Anyone who isn’t bridge crew is non-essential personnel,” Shaula said, and turned back to the main display, to yell at Eridan about his piloting skills. 

Nico nodded to himself and then walked out, pausing a moment to give Equius and Levtan a considering look, before he vanished through a door that Levtan could have sworn had not been there two seconds prior. And that Equius realized was not there anymore, after he blinked. 

“I’m gonna find out who’s responsible for this thing,” Eridan told no one in particular, guiding the _Anansi_ through several sharp turns, “and then I’m going to punch them in the face because they’re really fucking stupid and I hate them very much.” 

“Aye, aye,” Shaula snorted, “get the giant green monstrosity to scram, then you can start assigning blame.” 

“Main cannon is ready, auxiliary artillery is fully warmed up and waiting, Captain,” Lazuli said, watching numbers and colors across her screens and nodding to herself as most of it looked blue. 

“The warships are demanding to engage,” Sydney said, expression panicked, “I’m not sure how to explain to them that they shouldn’t.” 

“Tell them I’ll make the Grand Highblood ride back with them if they don’t keep the fuck out of the way,” Shaula snapped and then choked on a snort as Sydney made a choking noise. “Not _literally_ , Sydney, yes, you’re allowed to say it in a nicer way.” She shook her head. “Eridan get this show on the road!” 

“This show has been on the road for a decade now, we’re an interplanetary acclaimed performance,” he snapped back, snorting as he avoided claws aiming to cut off one of the _Anansi_ ’s fins. He wasn’t in a hurry to find out what would happen to _Shaula_ if that happened. “We’re on a roll here, the tickets for this tour have been sold out and the audience demands an _encore_!” 

There was a pause as they finally exited the maze of floating ships, Cherub right behind them, and the warships mercifully hanging back and out of the way. Shaula squinted. 

“How many hours have you been awake now?” She asked, gaze so piercing Eridan ducked under the weight of that judgment. 

“Six…” he muttered, and then performed an excellently timed barrel roll, “… _hundred_.” 

“Lazuli?” Shaula pressed her face into her hand. Lazuli made an inquiring noise. “Remind me to beat the tar out of him when we’re done.” 

“Will do, Captain.” 

“Good,” Shaula nodded, “now let’s blast that asshole in the face.” 

  


* * *

  


“This was not part of the script.” 

Gamzee smiled as his skin broke into goosebumps, the temperature in the block descending abruptly as a tiny bit of the void entered reality, along its passenger. He dipped his hands into the open chest of a nearby corpse, the blood thick and mostly dry, and rubbed it between his fingers as he reached out to soften a line, giving the finishing touches to his creation. The ship creaked and shook as the battle raged on outside, but he was not really concerned about that. 

“The script was shit anyway,” Gamzee said, stepping back to admire the full impact of his mural. He tripped on the half rotten corpse of an Elder and stumbled back clumsily, chuckling under his breath as he tried to keep himself upright. “Coulda used some righteous fixing.” He tilted his head back and grinned at Aradia, wrapped in tendrils of dark and madness. “If a sister be getting my meaning.” 

“You _changed_ the script,” she said, form flickering. “ _How_.” 

Gamzee smiled and turned back to look at the image sprawling across the wall. Drawn in blood, lines shifting in width as his materials grew drier and drier, the Messiahs were pictured in all their glory, cradling in their hands a new world, while the bits and pieces of the old one crumbled at the edges. He had captured that one moment, the one that gave clarity and truth to his existence, after centuries of keeping the secret to himself. It was all lines and awkward shapes, curves and twists that made no sense. But he wasn’t trying to picture the events as they had happened – would happen – but the glory that he’d glimpsed at, when he’d been flung through Time as part of his bargain with the Handmaid. The true nature of the Messiahs, as he’d come to understand it. 

“It was a shitty script,” he snorted as he sat back on his haunches, “we all deserved better than that, Messiahs know we’ve _earned_ it.” 

“But this isn’t what your Ancestor bargained for, when we came to him,” Aradia replied, folding her arms around her body. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go.” 

“My Ancestor did everything he did, for the Messiahs,” Gamzee sighed as he closed his eyes. Beneath him, light gathered as Rage was made manifest, purple light crawling up his legs. He let out a soft chuckle as Aradia gasped, her eyes and her power allowing her to see him and the truth he’d bargained for with the Witch. “He would have sacrificed everything for them, and he did. He was _selfless_ like that, when it came to the motherfucking faith.” Abruptly, the sigil below him changed, into the bright red of Flare, and with a swipe of an arm, flames engulfed the wall, scorching away the painting. “Me? There ain’t a selfless bone in me, lil’ sis. It was a shitty bargain to begin with, and you damn well know it. These are my brothers and sisters, and I fucking hated every single one of them, the goddamn zealots who elevated their own motherfucking failings into mysteries of the church and the meek cowards who half-assed everything because they didn’t know how to stand up for what they really believed in. But they are my brothers and sisters; you don’t _do_ that to brothers and sisters. So fuck my Ancestor’s bargain and fuck the goddamn script, I up and gotten my own done.” 

Aradia choked on a laugh, pressing her hands against her face as blood and darkness oozed down her cheeks. It was a terrible thing, what Gamzee had done, but she couldn’t quite fault him for it. And drunk on power and madness as she was, she still felt that spark of respect ignite a fire no less bright as the one consuming half the block. 

“They won’t see it as a gift,” she warned him, shaking her head slowly. “They won’t understand it until it’s too late and they will hate you for it, in the meantime. I don’t even know if they’ll forgive you, when it’s over.” 

“That’s okay,” Gamzee said, shrugging massive shoulders as he let his arms hang at his sides. “What did I just tell you, sis? I’m a motherfucking selfish bastard. I be doing what I want, not ‘cause it’s right, not ‘cause it’s fair, but because it’s what I’ll get me what fucking want.” The fire flickered as it died slowly, and Aradia found herself staring at him and seeing in his silhouette, for the first time, not his Ancestor, but himself. “It’ll make sure they people I care about will be safe and sound, when it’s all over. It’s okay if they don’t like it; they’ll be alive enough to hate me for it, and _that’s_ all I care about.” 

“Trust Eridan,” Aradia said suddenly, as the silence stretched and the block fell into darkness again, both the writhing void clinging to her body, and the natural absence of life as the fire disappeared. “Trust Eridan and no one else, and maybe this… demented idea of yours won’t get us all killed.” 

“I trust the Messiahs,” Gamzee laughed, as she began melting back into nothingness, “and anyone the Messiahs trust.” He snorted. “And I guess that means I trust their Witness… even though their Witness is a fucking stupid inbred fish bitch. Heh.” 

Alone, once more, though not really alone anymore, Gamzee sat down to wait. It wouldn’t be long, now, and he had a feeling things were just about to get interesting. 

  


* * *

  


“I would not kiss the floor, if I were you,” Eridan said, arching an eyebrow as his descendant – _cringe_ – crawled upon the hangar floor and all but made out with it. “It’s a Subjugglator ship, kid. And a thousand sweeps ain’t enough to make Subjugglators change all that much.” 

Levtan looked up from his magnificent gratefulness ritual to squint at his Ancestor. He was just glad the whole flying around inside a whale while fighting a cosmic horror thing was over. And he could no longer cling to Equius, because Equius was a mean-spirited, cruel monster who’d kicked him off at the first opportunity. People were so rude and insensitive when dealing with someone clearly going through a major panic attack, honestly. However, since he wasn’t quite sure what his Ancestor meant, he turned around to Shaula, Equius and Camila, who were staring at him with varying degrees of amusement and exasperation. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He croaked, and then shrank back a little with the Subjugglator nun grinned at him with far too many teeth. 

“You don’t want to know,” she said, snickering as he went pale, “and you also do _not_ want to kiss the floor. Or anything, really, on a Subjugglator ship.” 

Levtan stared at her for a moment, before he started choking and making loud gagging noises. Eridan buried his face into his hands as Camila broke into loud cackling. 

“Just the slight possibility that some of the genetic material from your retarded clade went into making me is fucking depressing, Douchefins,” Shaula told Eridan, opting to ignore Levtan, who was now busy scraping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. “Though in retrospect that does explain Vriska Serket so much.” 

“Hey, hey,” Eridan snickered, waving off the accusation, “the seadweller side of our shared ancestry has nothing to do with that hot mess, that’s all on you, spider trolls.” 

“Goes to show what you know!” Shaula laughed obnoxiously, “I’m a _scorpion_ troll, so that mess ain’t my problem.” 

“Your problem—“ 

“Why isn’t there anyone here?” Equius asked, interrupting the squabble before it could really get going. There was something strained in his tone as he stared around him with narrowed eyes. “Where _are_ all the Subjugglators?” 

“That’s a fairly valid question, actually.” Shaula arched an eyebrow, turning to look at the others. “Now that we’ve dealt with the winged cosmic horror bit and we’re not on a timer here, does anyone know what’s the deal with the ship graveyard thing? Because that’s creepy as shit, even for Subjugglators.” She gave Camila a side look. “No offense intended.” 

“Heh, none taken,” the nun replied, shrugging. “I don’t reckon I’d ever seen so many faithful ships together all in the same place.” 

“The issue isn’t how many ships are here,” Eridan pointed out with a scowl, “the issue is that all of them seem to be _empty_.” 

“The Grand Highblood summoned all the Subjugglators here, a few perigees ago,” Equius explained, trying and failing not to fidget. “Lord Imoogi was tasked to make sure he wouldn’t do something stupid, like start a war. But then, a few weeks ago, they just… went silent.” 

“He called for the Conclave,” Camila said, mostly to herself, a funny expression crossing her face. “I’m starting to think this whole bullshit about the world ending is actually true.” 

“I’m almost scared to ask what changed your mind,” Shaula said, giving her a side look. “No matter what it is, I’m pretty sure I’m not gonna like it.” 

“You can ask, but I ain’t gonna tell you,” she replied, shrugging. “That’s not—“ 

“Her secret to tell,” Gamzee finished for her, since he’d grabbed her by the throat and she wasn’t able to continue. He smirked as everyone – except Levtan, who might have squeaked and fainted – shifted into a defensive posture as he appeared literally out of thin air. Flash stepping, in Gamzee’s opinion, was the best damn skill he’d ever learned. Always great for a prank, or a suitably dramatic entry. “I mean, she can up and motherfucking squeak,” he tightened his hold a little, as Camila kicked air somewhat, “but then she’d have to kill you and I’d have to kill her. Precepts of the faith, you understand, nothing personal.” 

“Put her down, Makara,” Eridan said, as he reached out to hold onto Shaula’s shoulder to keep her from rushing at certain death. “Now.” 

“She has to go,” Gamzee replied, voice a mocking singsong, before his tone shifted and he stood up to his full height, towering above them all, “they _all_ had to go. Had to, you see, save them from themselves. Protect them, even.” 

Behind Shaula and Eridan, Equius fell to his knees, eyes wide and expression horrified as Camila gasped and clawed at his hand, struggling to breathe. 

“You fucking—“ 

“Look at her arm, Makara,” Eridan snapped, eyes narrowed as he stood up straight, “look under whose protection she is.” 

For a moment, Gamzee stared at Eridan, trying to guess what was the trick – it had to be a trick, of course – but then he looked and saw the rope of beads wrapped snuggly around Camila’s arm, glimmering with something otherworldly. Abruptly, he opened his hand and the nun fell to the ground with soft grunt. She coughed and held her throat as she looked up at the Grand Highblood with a mixture of resentment and respect. Gamzee sat back on his haunches and laughed, as Shaula reached out to make sure her first mate was unscathed. 

“So you really are the Witness,” Gamzee mused after a moment, sneering at Eridan. “I had half a mind she was just pulling my leg when she told me. You! The spineless coward, given such a motherfucking honor. Had to be seen to be believed, that was, I be—“ 

Equius snapped out of his shock and punched Gamzee hard enough to send his considerable bulk flying several feet off the ground and then punched him again on the way down so he was sent careening across the empty hangar until he hit a wall. Camila choked on a laugh and slapped both hands on her mouth to keep it in, because she was pretty sure that even if he’d tried to kill her, it was a big no-no to laugh at the Grand Highblood’s misfortune. 

“Holy _shit_ , Zahhak,” Shaula said, and then cackled. “I retroactively take back every time I called you a stuck up bitch in my head, _wow_.” 

To Equius’ credit, he’d caught Gamzee by surprise and that made his attack pretty damn effective. However, now that he was expecting it, the Grand Highblood dodged the next flurry of blows without much issue, grinning bloody as he concentrated on not getting pummeled to the ground. Equius was, after all, pretty damn strong, but Gamzee was made of sterner stuff than that, and he wasn’t about to go down for the count that easily. He honked a laugh that only served to make Equius’ eyes bleed red with fury, and taunted him as they moved around the hangar with far too much ease for creatures their size. 

Levtan chose that moment to come back to alertness, took one look at both massive trolls duking it all out a few feet away, and then promptly went unconscious again. 

“I swear to fucking god,” Eridan said, rubbing his face with his hands, just as Gamzee reached with a giant hand and grabbed Equius’ head, using it to slam him down into the ground hard enough to leave a crater. He flash stepped behind Gamzee, hanging off a horn as he pressed the barrel of a rifle against the back of his head, just as Gamzee was about to deliver another hit on Equius. “That’s _enough_ , Makara.” 

“Bitch be starting shit,” Gamzee laughed, though he did pull back somewhat and allowed Equius enough room to breathe, “I just be—“ 

“Ending it,” Eridan snapped, tugging hard on a horn. “Right now.” 

Gamzee flash stepped back and away, forcing Eridan to land on the floor between him and Equius, who was slowly sitting up and didn’t seem at all convinced to stop his attempt to tear Gamzee apart, limb by limb. When he tried to stand, though, he found the barrel of Eridan’s rifle pointing right between his eyes. And just as he began to feel he could chance the bullet and probably survive, light burst into a circle beneath Eridan’s feet as he pointed a wand straight at Gamzee’s face. 

“Okay, listen up, you pair of inbred idiots,” Eridan snarled, as the wand melted into a scythe and the rifle in Equius’ face grew and shifted shape and color until it was Ahab’s crosshairs pointed at his head. “I need you both alive. You’re a sack of shit poorly disguised as a troll, Makara, and I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve done, but you probably deserve more than just a love tap to the face. But,” and he looked at Equius over his shoulder, expression severe, “I need you alive right now. I need _both_ of you alive, because I made a deal with something far more scary than you two idiots put together, and until I’ve paid my side of the bargain, I’m going to _keep_ you both alive. If when I’m done, you still want to wantonly murder each other? I will be in the first fucking row with a tub of grub corn the size of my goddamn head. But until then, the next time either of you two idiots gets into your stupid head to start shit, I’m going to forcibly remind you that I said I needed you alive, _not_ awake. Are we fucking clear?” 

Gamzee shrugged, but didn’t quite stand down. Equius snarled. 

“ _He murdered my matesprit!_ ” 

Eridan lowered the crosshairs just a little, blinked, opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then he turned to Gamzee with a disgusted glare. 

“Okay, shit, I take it back,” he scowled, “I’m helping _him_ murder you when this is done, what _the fuck_ , Gamzee?” 

“His fault for wanting to fuck a clown,” the Grand Highblood said, shrugging again as he sat on his haunches, looking unrepentantly amused. 

“I swear to—ah ah ah!” Eridan raised the crosshairs again, as Equius seemed about to leap again. “Okay, okay, listen to me, Zahhak. I get it. I do, believe me. But I really, _really_ do need him alive and I _will_ fucking turn you into a goddamn insensate pile of drooling stupid, unless you stand the fuck down.” There was a pause. “ _Now_.” Reluctantly, Equius did. Eridan sighed. “Alright, _people_ , listen up! Here’s how it’s gonna play out. Pay attention, okay? We follow the script and we all get back to the _Deathfowl_ without anyone having to get concussed.” Gamzee snorted a honk under his breath, earning himself another withering glare. “Gamzee is going to very graciously give himself up peacefully, and then someone with the actual rank to do it is going to arrest his murder happy stupid ass, and then we’re all filing back onto the goddamn whale at which point I’m going to take a fucking nap, because I am too fucking sleep deprived to keep dealing with this shit. The kid can drive us back, for all care. And once we’re back into the _Deathfowl_ , we’re gonna figure out how we’re heading back to Alternia and fixing this fucking mess so we can all live happily ever after. Except Gamzee, because there’s going to be a fucking line to murder his ass and I’m pretty sure Equius here is gonna be at the very front of it. _Capice_?” 

It didn’t work quite as easily as Eridan said it would, mostly because Equius had to take four separate breathing breaks before he could utter the words and actually arrest Gamzee. And then they had to figure out something to secure him, even though he’d shrugged and said he’d go along without resistance. In the end, because Shaula refused to have him roaming her whale freely, Gamzee ended up tied up in thick, magic chains that Camila pointed out they still had somewhere in storage, and then locked up in a small, dark room somewhere in the depths of the _Anansi_. 

Eridan did slink away back to his quarters on the ship, though, leaving Equius and Levtan alone with the rest of the crew, who did their best to ignore them. 

It was going to be a long and tedious flight back to the _Deathfowl_ , particularly since the Anansi’s magic reserves had been mostly depleted during the Cherub fight and they didn’t have the power to fly as fast as they’d like, but Eridan was determined to have no part in it. 

His eye hurt. 

  


* * *

  


“Do you watch a lot of movies, Nepeta?” Terezi asked idly, as their ship landed safely into the hangar. 

They’d had to blast their way in, since there was no one aboard to open the docking gates for them, and then speed through the automatic defenses before the security hatches closed in on them. The counterfeit courier ship they had… _liberated_ from the outlaw post was small and fast, and it had allowed them to search for the Acheron with relative ease. But now that they were inside the abandoned ship, the unease was enough to have their hair standing on end. 

“Not really,” Nepeta replied, finishing the last protocols to stop the ship entirely. “Always found them boring, if you ask me.” 

“Yeah, I wasn’t big on them, either,” Terezi snorted, leaning on the backrest of the chair, arms folded beneath her chin as she straddled it backwards while Nepeta busied herself with details. Nepeta choked on a giggle at that comment though because… well, Terezi seemed incapable of resisting the urge to crack a joke about her blindness every now and then. “But even so, I feel like I’ve watched this flick before.” 

“Yeah? Don’t spoil it for me,” Nepeta said, shaking her head as she bounced off her seat with a grin. “The backup generators are still working, though only at minimum survival requirements. We won’t need the suits.” 

“For _shame_ , Miss Leijon,” Terezi replied, following after her at a much more subdued pace. She cracked her neck a little as the gate flung open entirely too quickly for her tasted. “Spoilers are against the law.” 

Nepeta leaped off into the hangar and landed on a crouch with ease. Knees on the ground, one hand helping her keep balance, she looked around slowly, ears twitching slightly as she strained to catch the smallest sound. Terezi waited until Nepeta stood up again, arms hanging loosely down her sides, before she stepped down the platform, heels and cane clicking rhythmically on the metal. She’d seen Nepeta pull the same reconnaissance routine every time they entered potentially dangerous territory, and she knew better than to interrupt. She would never admit it out loud, if only because it’d make Nepeta preen, but Terezi was fairly certain her hearing was preternaturally superior to Terezi’s own hyper honed senses. 

One tended to forget, between the ludicrously childish demeanor and the barrage of cat puns, that there was a disturbing amount of truth behind Nepeta’s nickname around the Empire, particularly when she was on the proverbial hunt. It took Terezi a moment to realize it’d been weeks since she’d last heard a pun, even though Nepeta’s playful drawl remained the same. It was a terrible habit of hers, which she found obnoxiously hard to control, to confuse good cheer with inoffensiveness. She blamed it on her tendency to make hard, dangerous choices, and her penchant to be grim rather than cheerful. 

The thing that always tripped her was the fact Nepeta was always so heartfelt and sincere about her good will. Terezi blamed the sweeps working with Gamzee, Glydan and the like, that she was unused to dealing with cheer that wasn’t a thin veneer hiding poisoned fangs. 

“So are pirates,” Nepeta retorted, unrepentant as she brought Terezi out of her contemplations. She flashed her a wide grin full of perfectly white teeth. “So you understand why I’d need to ask these things.” 

Only an idiot would take Nepeta Leijon at face value, and Terezi reminded herself sternly, even as she glared in the face of the teasing laughter, that she had long chosen to stop being idiotic. 

  


* * *

  


“Please tell me we’re already there,” Eridan said, stepping out his door – which had appeared out of nowhere, much to Equius surprise – into the corridor where the taller troll was standing with a scowl. “I feel like I slept a fucking _decade_.” 

“No, to both accounts,” Equius replied, tone clipped and expression sour, “you slept perhaps ten hours, hardly a fourth of the journey back.” 

“Okay,” Eridan said, in a tone that implied it was anything but, and shrugged. “Can I ask why you’re looming around the corridor outside my quarters like a lamppost particularly offended by the world at large?” 

Equius twitched, in a surprisingly eloquent fashion that made Eridan crack a snort. Nonetheless, he waited for a verbal reply. 

“I have been informed that my… presence in the bridge is a… distraction,” he said, slow and measured to try and keep his tone even. “I did not know where else to go, except… seek out the Grand Highblood, which would be most unwise, I believe.” 

Eridan stared for a moment, and then winced. 

“Oh fuck, that did happen didn’t it, that wasn’t part of the dream.” He scratched the back of his head, messing up some of his hair as he was reminded, yet again, that he could probably use a haircut. Or some hair gel. Or maybe the universe would be great and allow him _both_. “Son of a bitch, I’m so so—wait.” He stared at Equius, as he seemed to finally wake up properly. “Fuck. Okay. Can I hold onto my condolences for fifteen minutes? Just clench and hold onto that rage, we might not need to actually kill Gamzee, just punch him repeatedly until our arms break. Shit.” 

Equius blinked, and then stared as Eridan stomped away through a corridor that wasn’t there before, and oh god, he was so done with the fucking whale and the goddamn vanishing doors and hallways in it. He just wanted to go home and call Nepeta and then maybe pretend he hadn’t learned any of the horrifically terrible things he’d learned. He wanted to pretend he wasn’t numb with sorrow and drunk on rage, both at the same time. 

He slumped back to the floor, pressing his forehead to his knees. 

At least, he mused darkly, he no longer looked the part of the lamppost. 

  


* * *

  


“Trail’s cold,” Nepeta pointed out unhelpfully, shining a flashlight along the dark, empty corridors of the _Acheron_. “Not dead-cold, but cold enough we might need to repower this place to actually get something out of it. But then if we do…” 

“Ignoring my moirail’s nagging might not be quite as easy,” Terezi sighed. “There really isn’t any trace of what might have happened here, is there? It’s just like…” 

“Magic,” Nepeta snorted, shaking her head. “And I don’t mean the magic of play-pretend.” 

There was something unspeakably unsettling about a ship as empty as that one. The core emergency generators kept running on inertia, supplying breathable air and stable gravity – which was already somewhat weaker than standard. All corridors were dark and all sound echoed ominously. Were Terezi a lesser troll, she would be reconsidering the wisdom of ignoring her moirail’s warnings, but she was Terezi Pyrope, Mistress of the Tyranny Court and Space Pirate (On Occasion), she wasn’t about to leave without a solid lead into her case. 

“Let’s check the bridge,” she said, since Nepeta’s slow, methodical combing of the ship seemed like it would take forever if left unchecked. “See if there’s anything worthwhile there.” Nepeta offered the prerequisite chuckle at that joke and nodded. Terezi remained where she was. “I don’t suppose you know where the bridge is, though.” 

“Sure,” the taller troll answered chirpily, and then paused. “…you don’t?” 

“It’s my first time aboard this ship,” Terezi confessed with a small shrug, trying to make the words less meaningful than they were. But Nepeta was Nepeta and nothing could stand between her and a juicy romantic clusterfuck. “Despite Vriska’s constant taunting.” 

And then, because Terezi kept forgetting Nepeta’s keen ability to be unpredictable, all her bracing against unwanted questions went to waste when all she did was shrug and start walking into the darkness. 

“She never liked me on her ship,” Nepeta snorted, shaking her head. “Which obviously meant I spent as much time on it as possible. I once went almost an entire sweep aboard, without her noticing. She was _furious_ when she found out.” 

Terezi took a deep breath, pushed the riot of conflicting emotions down her throat and cracked an almost sincere snicker. 

“Don’t you mean _furrious_?” 

In the dark hallway, the light made Nepeta’s smile wide and bright, and it tasted of something spicy and pleasant to Terezi’s nose that she couldn’t hope to name. 

  


* * *

  


“We’re not going to kill Gamzee,” Eridan announced, after more than fifteen minutes had passed, standing over Equius with a vaguely manic look on his face. “I might even kiss the son of a bitch, once I’m done being so genuinely _disgruntled_ over this shit.” 

Equius imploded and exploded all at once. 

“My matesprit is _dead_ ,” he snarled, unfurling to his feet with a feral snarl as he reached out to grab Eridan by the lapels of his coat. “She’s gone, Eridan, she’s—“ 

“In a better place,” Eridan deadpanned, offering a halfhearted shrug. “Trust me.” 

Equius made a noise of fury and slammed Eridan into the nearest wall, holding him about three feet off the ground. Eridan grunted from the impact but otherwise didn’t really react. And he certainly didn’t try to defend himself. It only made Equius angrier. 

“He—“ 

“ _Trust me_ ,” Eridan insisted, pressing his hands to Equius’ face, pushing his glasses up his forehead so he could stare into eyes bloodshot with wrath. “I swore in salt and gold, Zahhak, remember? And then I fucked it up, so I guess you don’t have much reason to, but. Trust me on this, it will be alright.” 

They stood there for a long moment. Or rather Equius stood and Eridan leaned on the wall and let him hold him up. And then the cracks in the façade widened enough it fell apart with one raw sob as Equius let go of Eridan and fell to his knees, burying his face into his chest. The noise raised in volume and went down in pitch, becoming a strung-out scream as every bit of emotion Equius had swallowed down in the past millennia came rushing up to the surface all at once. Eridan slid down the wall and pulled the stupid idiot down with him, wrapping his arms around his head as he just held him, silent. He looked at the ceiling and mouthed the word _please_ , and then he felt a spark of magic run almost affectionately down his spine as the walls shifted around them and they found themselves sitting in the middle of his block. 

He said nothing, because it wasn’t his place. He didn’t offer any comfort beyond privacy and the hold Equius so desperately needed, and felt like maybe, just maybe, that’d be enough. 

  


* * *

  


“My Lady,” Garfit said, blinking owlishly at the light construct standing on their desk. 

They didn’t look quite as impeccable as usual, their slightly tangled hair falling loosely down their shoulders and their face free of makeup for once. Without the usual details, Garfit looked exactly as old as they were, hair snowy white and expression lines cutting like scars along their face. Feferi didn’t think she’d ever seen them like that before, and wondered if it was a bad time. But then, time was the issue at hand. 

“Hello, Lord Imoogi,” she said, offering a small, uncertain smile. “Do you have a moment to spare? I do not wish to interrupt.” 

Garfit’s expression melted into a wry, expressive smirk as they shrugged. The important thing, they reasoned, was that the Empress did not realize exactly how gloriously, mercifully _drunk_ they were, at the moment. Then everything would be fine. 

“I live to serve my Empress, whenever she might need me,” they replied, a ghost of their usual ornery tone mixing into the words, but not enough to make Feferi shake off the feeling that they were… off somehow. “Do tell, what may I do for you today?” 

“Pretend I’m dead for the next couple of weeks,” Feferi said, shrugging. 

Garfit found themselves considerably sober all of a sudden. 

“ _What_.” 

“Well, not literally,” Feferi amended, chuckling. “I imagine you would not… handle it gracefully, if it actually happened. No. I need you to function without me for the next couple of weeks. I have already asked Sol—Lord Captor to keep an eye on things in my absence, but I realized today as I was about to have a rather unsightly meltdown over complications with this stupid peace negotiation that I didn’t inform you. So here I am, correcting that mistake.” 

“Forgive me, My Lady,” Garfit said slowly, tilting their head to the side, “but you sound sleep deprived and borderline manic.” 

“They changed the site of the meeting,” Feferi deadpanned, glaring at nothing in particular. “Again. I am… understandably irritated by the extra adjusting required for such a thing. And Karkat has decided to stay with me and see things through, given that Vriska is still missing and—well, I’m not having a very good day, to be honest, and given the way things are going I’m fairly certain something will go wrong with you and Gamzee to complete the show, so I’m trying to stay ahead of it.” 

“There _have_ been… complications, actually,” Garfit ventured after a moment, not quite sure how to take that tirade. “But I suppose you’d rather not hear about them.” 

“I have absolute faith in your ability to handle any sort of complications, Lord Imoogi,” Feferi replied, smile pristine and paper thin. “ _Without_ my input.” 

“They are pretty _big_ complications though,” Garfit added, giving up pretenses and leaning an elbow on the desk so they could rest their chin on a hand. “Big enough I was sincerely considering calling you and ask for leave to die, My Lady.” 

Feferi stared. 

“Yes, that’s exactly the kind of thing I can’t deal with right now, Garfit.” 

Garfit slumped forward on the desk, eyes half lidded. 

“I want to quit, My Lady.” 

“Honestly?” Feferi broke into a high-pitched laugh that sounded more like a scream than anything else. “So do I. Hold the fort for me, and we can talk when this is over.” 

Resigned, Garfit nodded. 

“Yes, My Lady.” 

The hologram vanished. As soon as it did, Harlow, slumped against the side of Garfit’s desk, broke into a mean-spirited, mocking laugh. 

“Do you _know_ what happens to trolls who laugh at me and my misfortune?” Garfit demanded, leaning over the edge of the desk to glower threateningly at him. 

“Don’t care,” Harlow cackled, raising his gourd in a mocking salute. “Not a troll!” 

  


* * *

  


“You can stop freaking out about it,” Eridan whispered, lips barely moving against Equius’ forehead. “I just wasn’t going to sleep sitting down when there was a perfectly serviceable rest slab available. Your tendency to cling is less painful on my back that way.” 

Equius scrambled off his place, lying comfortably on top of Eridan, with a panicked sound in the back of his throat. He smacked a horn on the ceiling, however, and the sudden shock unbalanced him enough that he fell to the floor, flailing as he went. Eridan watched the whole scene with a vaguely amused smirk on his face and then rolled onto his side to give Equius a risen eyebrow and a half-lidded stare for his efforts. 

“Are you feeling better now?” 

Equius flushed to the roots of his hair and felt himself drench his clothes in sweat all at once. 

“I apologize, that was… I was…” He licked his lips and tried to sit up properly. “I should go, I’m—“ 

Eridan reached a hand and grabbed him by a horn, yanking his head back until they were nose to nose. 

“Answer the question, Zahhak,” he said, eyebrows arched tauntingly. “It’d be _rude_ not to.” 

Equius realized, belatedly, that he was no longer wearing his glasses – couldn’t quite remember where his glasses were, at this point – and felt shame deepen the color of his face. He wanted to hide, find a nice, dark corner where he could just… pretend not to exist for a while, until it stopped being so unbearably embarrassing to be himself. He didn’t remember everything quite as well as he’d like, with bits and pieces of the puzzle standing in stark clarity while everything else was drowned in the white noise of too much emotion. 

“I don’t know,” he whispered, closing his eyes and letting his head fall so his forehead rested against Eridan’s. “I just…” 

“If I could tell you everything I would,” Eridan said suddenly, “I _want_ to share, I do. But it’d be unfair to, because it’s not your burden and it’s not your bargain. So all I can do is promise it’ll work out in the end. Because it _will_ , trust me.” 

“You want me to trust you.” Equius pulled back, opening his eyes as he sat up straight. Eridan released his hold on his horn, nodding. “Last time I trusted you, I ended up spending nine hundred sweeps wondering what I did wrong, why _you_ couldn’t trust _me_.” He swallowed hard. “Criina made me realize it wasn’t my fault you hadn’t trusted me, Eridan. _Criina made me happy_. And now she’s _gone_ and you want me to _trust_ you and let her murderer go _free_. You want me to _trust_ you and let her death go _unavenged_ , because somehow everything will work out fine, regardless!” 

Eridan took a deep breath and released it slowly. 

“Yes.” 

He wasn’t expecting the kiss, per se, but he certainly didn’t fight it. And when Equius dragged him off the bed and onto the floor, Eridan raked his claws along his arms, drunken in the memory of the first time they’d kissed and ended up on the floor. Equius bit and Eridan bit back, and it felt so good to go along with the flow of the feelings churning in their guts; that pulse of long lost black that made the world sharper and clearer all at once. 

“Ampora, get your _dumb_ ass into the bridge,” Shaula’s voice echoed in the block, tone livid, “ _now_ , Douchefins.” 

“I’m going to murder her,” Eridan gasped, pulling back from the fierce kiss even as Equius slid his mouth down his throat. “I will absolutely, 100% murder her.” 

  


* * *

  


“What’s so goddamn important it couldn’t fucking wait?” Eridan demanded as he entered the bridge. He paused, then turned to look at Shaula with an accusatory glare. “And what the fuck is the kid doing in my seat?” 

Levtan let go of the controls at once, raising his hands in the air. 

“Not my idea, she just—“ 

“It was your idea,” Shaula said snottily, rolling her eyes. “He’s terrible at this, but so damn entertaining to watch!” Levtan puffed up in annoyance, face flushed, and grabbed the controls again, sulking. Eridan gave Shaula a dead-eyed stare and turned around to leave. “Eridan,” Shaula said sharply, stopping him mid turn. “Does that answer your question?” 

_That_ turned out to be a very, painfully familiar star-shaped ship in the main display. Eridan swore under his breath as the ship glinted in what he’d have sworn was an inherently evil way, and dozens upon dozens of similar looking ships burst into existence around it. 

“Oh,” Eridan said, tonelessly, “ _that_ guy.” 

“Yes,” Shaula mused, expression wry, as the single ship multiplied until a veritable fleet was approaching. “That guy.” 

“Man, fuck that guy,” Eridan muttered, rubbing his face with his hands. Equius chose that moment to enter the bridge, having finally made up his mind after a few minutes of wondering if the orders to stay away were suspended now that Eridan was with him. Had been with him. He watched the exchange between Captain and Navigator with a frown. “ _Please_ don’t say I told you so.” 

“Are we running away?” Sydney wondered, and went ignored by all. “Because we should totally run away. Like now.” 

“Oh, I think I _will_ ,” Shaula snorted. “Because I _bloody_ told you so, you whining _imbecile_. Not only did you shoot his sworn god, you moron, you shot _him_ too.” 

“Right,” Eridan sighed, rolling his eyes and pointedly ignoring the look Equius was giving him. 

Camila started giggling. 

“Was my sworn god, too,” Shaula added, in a snide, sullen mutter. 

“Moving on—“ 

“Captain, these levels–” Lazuli, too, went utterly ignored. 

“Seriously, Eridan, you _shot_ a _Witch_.” 

“ **Shaula**.” 

“ _What!_ ” 

“Orders?” Eridan asked irritably, leaning against the back of his chair, currently occupied by a soft-gilled brat who didn’t know shit about driving a whale. “Or are you just gonna let him shoot us down out of spite? Because someone told me something about noses and faces, if that’s the case and I _will_ call it out, if you dare.” 

“My orders,” Shaula scoffed, ignoring Eridan’s glare, “is that _you_ got us into this mess, so _you_ get us out of it.” 

“We’re all going to die,” Lazuli announced, deadpan. 

“Nonsense,” Eridan snorted, grabbing Levtan by the back of his shirt and hauling him off his chair without a second thought. Levtan made a sound he’d swear up and down was not a squeak, and glared at his ancestor as he vaulted into his seat and grabbed the controls resolutely. “You’re just gonna _wish_ you would. No biggie, you’ll get used to it after a while. Have at them, Ed!” 

Ed – who paused momentarily to glower murder at Eridan for the nickname – made a show to pull the trigger. 

Absolutely nothing happened. 

“ _Ah_ ,” Eridan said. 

“ _Er_ ,” Shaula added, eloquently. 

“As I _was_ saying,” Lazuli said, monotone just barely strained, “we only have enough power for either propulsion or weapons.” She looked up to give Shaula and Eridan a long, judging stare each. “So we’re going to die.” 

“Yeah okay,” Eridan said, as the _Anansi_ whined in annoyance as he barely guided it to dodge a sudden barrage of fire against them. “Blue and pissy’s got a point, we’re all gonna die.” 

Shaula resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands and scream. Camila’s continued giggling was most certainly not helping. Levtan whimpered quietly and looked up at Equius for guidance. Equius continued to stare at Eridan. 

“ _No one’s gonna die_ ,” Shaula said, rolling her eyes as she stood up. “Well, no one who matters anyway.” Light began to gather around her, an orange-yellow glow spreading across her skin. “Are you feeling lucky today, Eridan?” 

“ _No!_ ” Eridan snarled at her, as the orb representing her shone intensely as all the sigils of Light scattered around the bridge glowed in sympathy. “What happened to not banking all your chips all at once? What happened to not betting it all on one card?” 

“You’d have to be stupid not to bet it all on _this_ card though,” Shaula laughed, eyes glowing. “Do your best, Fins, we’re officially on the jackpot zone.” 

Eridan gasped as he felt the chance field open wide and swallow the _Anansi_ whole. He’d only seen Shaula pull that off once before, but it was no less impressive because of it. Odds aligned and good fortune flowed, and as Eridan gripped the controls tight and threw himself head first into a battle he couldn’t have hoped to win, Light smiled upon him. They had no weapons and barely any shields to speak of. All he could do was sway along the enemy fleet and dodge their fire while he tried to trick them into shooting each other. They shouldn’t have fallen for that, but as soon as they entered the influence sphere around the _Anansi_ , they had no real choice. Shots missed them by a hairbreadth, ships flew into each other just as Eridan swerved harshly one side or the other or they just malfunctioned spontaneously and burst into flames as a result. 

Levtan still shrieked at every close call and Equius found himself flinching whenever they barely avoided crashing into something. The bridge was deadly quiet, though, allowing Eridan and Shaula to concentrate on their respective tasks; only their breathing broke the silence, some of them panicked, some of them deep and slow. 

Eridan felt nauseous, as he continued to push the _Anansi_ to its limits, rushing through their enemies to thin their ranks as much as possible. When they started running though, he pulled back and refused to give chase. As soon as the last of the surviving ships was out of range, Shaula fell to her knees, magic dying out as abruptly as a candle blown out. 

“At some point,” she said, holding onto Camila as she was guided back to her seat, “you’re gonna need to learn to stop pulling back your punches, Douchefins.” 

“You know _damn_ well that if I ever start, I’m never gonna stop,” he replied, slumping back as the Anansi exhausted the last of its borrowed power and slowed down to its previous pace. 

“Well,” Sydney said after a moment, defusing the potential argument before it could start, “the good news is that we’re just a couple hours away from the _Deathfowl_.” 

“Yeah, the bad news is that we lost all the warships with that little stunt,” Camila pointed out with a snort. “Let’s just hope Lord Imoogi doesn’t take offense to that.” 

  


* * *

  


They brought Gamzee in chains out of the _Anansi_ , and Garfit was there to receive them. Harlow stood beside them, holding Sinann in his arms. It was all relieved quiet that their mission had been a technically success, up until Gamzee stood up tall and snapped the chains off his body with no visible effort. Violet light crackled warningly along Garfit’s body as he approached them, and the others tensed, preparing for a fight they still weren’t sure wasn’t going to break out as Gamzee’s eyes bled purple and they felt the weight of fearmongering digging into their minds. Eridan, who knew damn well Gamzee wouldn’t dare use his freaky mind lashes on him, held onto Equius’ arm and shook his head slowly, to keep him from doing something unfortunate. They remained standing, just as Harlow and Sinann did, even as Gamzee’s toxic psychic touch forced everyone else, even the proud Lord Imoogi, to the ground. Eridan knew Equius couldn’t see what he did, but he understood in that moment, what a truly terrible creature Gamzee Makara was. 

Gamzee stopped before the Old Man and his charge, and fell to his knees. He bowed his back forward, arms stretched along the floor and hands palm side up, in a reverence reserved exclusively for devotion to the Empress, that had fallen out of use many, many millennia prior. 

“You will do as you’re told,” Harlow said, looking down at him with just a hint of disdain, “and nothing more.” 

Sinann shifted in his grasp, leaning in to get a better look of the gargantuan troll prostrated in supplication at their feet. Abruptly, the miasma of fear died out, allowing everyone to breathe again and to hear the Grand Highblood proclaim his devotion to his Gods. 

“Command me,” Gamzee purred, in his sweetest, nicest voice, “and it _will_ be done.” 

  


* * *

  


“It’s not too late to turn back, you know,” Sollux said, frustrated more than deadpan, as the _Neverland_ completed the FTL jump gracefully. “Just. Go back to the Inner Rim, Tavros.” 

“Respectfully, I honestly and sincerely, completely decline,” Tavros replied, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement as he nodded at his bridge crew and they began choreographing the complex process of requesting access to the _Deathfowl_. “Things are definitely, and not very subtly, afoot around here, and I do think, if you pardon me, that anything involving my matesprit, is very much my business.” 

Sollux refrained from comment, but the silence seemed as poignant as a sound of annoyance would have been. 

“You need to stop listening to Nepeta,” he said instead, tone dark. 

“I don’t really think I will,” Tavros added, shrugging innocently, “I’m afraid.” 

Sollux didn’t bother to reply, as Garfit’s face appeared on the main display. 

“Lord Nitram,” they said, voice strained, “what are you doing here?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote at the beginning by George MacDonald.
> 
> Special thanks to [obstinate_nocturna](http://obstinate-nocturna.tumblr.com/), for allowing us to play around with her OC, Criina.
> 
> Yes, it's canon. Now go and tell anon to suck it.


	8. VII: The Chariot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes from Rie:** This chapter isn't so much done as we're done with it. No more, by god let it go.
> 
>  **Notes from Fi:** Man, fuck this chapter. Fuck everyone in this chapter, it has been such a fucking pain to edit and put together and sort out the timeframe and the timeline for this, I think at some point we really thought it was never gonna be done.

  


* * *

  


_All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost._

  


* * *

  


Gamzee looked up to find Eridan leaning against the door of his cell, arms folded over his chest and expression somewhat close to neutral. The Grand Highblood, stripped of all his relics and his rank, slowly sat up, folding his limbs to rest his elbows on his knees, his own back pressed against the wall. The cell wasn't exactly small, but then again, Gamzee often redefined the word gargantuan for anyone who met him. 

“What,” he said, drowsily, “up and already again?” 

“You're an idiot,” Eridan pointed out, as he had, since he began regularly visiting said idiot. 

He pushed himself off the door and sauntered over the two steps required to cradle Gamzee's head in his hands. They were glowing golden, as was the rest of him, a soft glow that made his bones creak and would leave his joints aching for hours. Eridan tilted Gamzee's face up, so he could look at him in the eye and concentrated to manage his power and pass it along passively. Gamzee had shoved him off, the first time he'd done this, because he'd lost control and only contractual immortality saved Eridan the unsightliness of a broken spine. The stupid clown had been almost apologetic about the whole thing, the absolute bastard. 

“None be doubting that, brother,” Gamzee muttered, subdued, slowly letting his head rest in Eridan's grip as he focused solely on patching up the holes in his mind, with the borrowed power. “Bitches just up and cower too much to say it out loud.” He grinned lopsidedly, eyes half lidded. “Kinda like you be used to.” 

“Different time,” Eridan said shortly, mouth thinned into a frown, “different me.” When Gamzee didn't burst into honking laughter, Eridan found himself, much to his own annoyance, peering down at him curiously. “Gods, you're a moron,” he said instead of anything more asinine. “Why the fuck did you think this would be a good idea?” 

Gamzee paused, gave Eridan a measuring look, and shrugged almost delicately. 

“You know why,” he said, hoarse, and went back to piecing himself back together as well as he could. 

Eridan scowled. 

“Terezi should be doing this,” he sighed, but didn't step back when Gamzee broke eye-contact and summarily slumped his head into his chest. “Or, I don't know, someone like her. I don't know how long you're gonna last like this and us trying to pretend we know jackshit about Mind.” And then, because Gamzee refused to reply coherently, Eridan scoffed somewhat callously. “You could have just let them die, too. Sure, they'd be missed, but they were supposed to die anyway. That's what the script said.” 

“Sister be saying that, too,” Gamzee snorted, as the light finally died out and he could breath somewhat freely again, the inside of his skull sank into a merciful silence. “Told her it was a shitty script.” 

“Of course it's a shit script,” Eridan rolled his eye and stepped away, nodding to himself as Gamzee looked considerably less like he was about to fall apart any second now. “Look who fucking wrote the shit.” 

“And yet a brother be up and playing his part,” the Grand Highblood taunted, and Eridan knew he would be alright, because he could still smirk like the smug son of a bitch he knew him to be. 

“Peas in a pod, you and I,” Eridan deadpanned, “goddamn selfish assholes fucking up reality just 'cause.” He frowned as Gamzee's smile widened creepily. “Seriously though, are you gonna hold on, Makara? Because I honest to god could do without having to kick your fucking ass. For one it'd hurt like a bitch, and for another I don't want to explain to Equius what happens to his matesprit when you die, now, all things considered.” 

“Are you gonna break down and damn us all with that shit sucking out the marrow from your goddamn bones?” Gamzee asked, defiant. 

Eridan snarled back, the golden glow flickering just for a moment, before he turned and prepared to stalk away. He stopped at the door, however, if only because Gamzee's laughter sounded like a personal offence. 

“Oh,” he said, looking over his shoulder, “by the way, _brother_ , Nitram is here.” 

Gamzee lunged at him, claws and fangs extended, but he ended up bouncing off the reinforced door of the cell, as Eridan had already vanished into thin air. 

  


* * *

  


"...bearing in mind I am not suggesting we should give up," Nepeta said, perched backwards on a chair and slowly turning from side to side, "I think we should give up. This lead at least." 

She peered at Terezi with a slightly bored expression on her face as the tealblood scrutinized the block one more time. Like all previous times - Nepeta had sincerely lost count - the block seemed to not want to share its secrets. Or, Nepeta thought cynically, flat out didn't have any to divulge. At the moment, Terezi was methodically licking over every keyboard on every station on the Navigation area, key by key, it seemed. Nepeta chose not to ask how Terezi expected there to be any evidence left since she'd essentially licked everything clean already, mostly because Terezi was one of the few trolls in the world that she considered her friend and one didn't point out to harsh truths to friends, when they were so bent on grasping for straws. It was her personal - and professional - opinion that the trail hadn't so much gone cold as withered off and been eaten by the vacuum of space. The _Acheron_ was empty and it looked like it had been empty forever. There was no sign of Vriska or her crew; each and every nod to troll presence aboard the ship removed with surgical precision. 

Nepeta could think of only one person who could pull off something like that and, in all honesty, wasn't entirely sure she would be in the wrong to do it, what with Vriska being Vriska and Aradia... well, Aradia. 

But then, Nepeta had always been smart enough to keep her nose well out of the clusterfuck of hurt feelings and thorny bullshit between those two, whereas Terezi seemed physically incapable of keeping well away. 

"While I would normally count your solid rationale as a virtue," Terezi said after a moment, straightening her back but not turning to face Nepeta, "at the moment I am incredibly unamused by your need to be reasonable about this." 

"Don't care," Nepeta replied, placidly. 

"I'm well aware," Terezi sighed, placing both hands on the console before her, and ineffectively willing the damn thing to start talking. The console remained infuriatingly silent, as inanimate objects are prone to be. "But it's cathartic to say, at the very least." 

Nepeta shrugged expressively inside her coat, and that was that. 

  


* * *

  


"Do you believe it?" Tavros asked, coming to a stop at the railing that overlooked one of the many, many sparring arenas in the _Deathfowl_. "Any of it?" 

Down below, Eridan and Shaula sparred with an adult Sinann, pushing at her with everything they could. Swords and a scythe were not exactly the best combination against a trident, and the girl seemed in possession of the fabled tyrian endurance and strength, at least when she didn't look like she was barely four, but the two were a formidable combo that kept her well on her toes. Every now and then, Eridan barked corrections about stance and technique, allowing Shaula a moment to casually catch her breath. Sinann didn't seem to mind, taking to instruction with a strange, docile quality that rubbed Tavros not quite right. 

He’d never been overly fond of Eridan, long ago when Eridan was something other than a footnote on Tavros’ mental map of the world. Back when Eridan still had weight to shove around, he’d been every bit the stereotypical nasty kind of seadweller kid Aradia kept far, far away from Tavros, when they played FLARP. But then things changed, Karkat outed himself and Feferi gave them an ultimatum, and everything spiralled out of control until the very fate of the Empire came crashing down their shoulders. Tavros had learned not to bow under the weight well enough, but in the grand scale of things, Eridan Ampora was little more than an off-hand comment hastily tacked onto Karkat. He couldn’t even remember if he’d ever actually spoken with the man, much less what might have been said. He’d never liked Eridan, but he’d never really disliked him. He wasn’t part of the world Tavros cared about and fussed over, night in, night out, and so any opinion he could have had about him had died along with the man, so many centuries ago. 

He’d felt sorry about his death because he liked Karkat, but beyond sympathy over the loss his fellow Chancellor had faced, Tavros thought and thought and came back empty, when he tried to put a finger on his thoughts about the seadweller. 

Now he was back, not dead after all, heralding disaster and a thousand other things that Tavros would certainly care about, if only because he wasn’t terribly big on the idea of dying horribly. If one believed him and his incredible story, that is. Tavros wasn’t naive anymore, and any goodwill he was willing to extend to Eridan on principle was considerably stunted by Shaula’s presence at his side. 

Tavros was perfectly willing to admit his disdain for the girl was entirely irrational and possibly a little unfair. 

But then, he wasn’t in the mood to gamble with what limbs remained his own, on the off chance the apple didn’t fall too far away from the tree. 

So he watched them, instead, and waited for Garfit to finish composing their speech in their head. After all, Garfit had been kind enough to wait for him to process every bit of convoluted and confusing information he’d been given, on top of the shock of learning why exactly his matesprit was locked up in a containment cell and why he wasn’t dead just yet. 

“I have reasons to,” Garfit said eventually, coming to stand next to him with a rustle of cloth and faint jingling of gold. “But you would have to be Imoogi, to understand them.” 

“Try, anyway,” Tavros said, giving the older Lord a side look, “I am, honestly, contractually obligated to at least listen, uh, what with you not, er, having executed Gamzee on the spot.” 

“The Handmaid lies,” Garfit replied with a soft sigh, folding their arms on the railing and leaning most of their weight on it. “We know that better than most. But even so, her madness and her lies always made sense. This does not. This is monumental and terrifying and very, very dire, and yet were you to speak with Harlow, I doubt sincerely he’d treat it as such. Eridan acts like it’s a chore. Sinann doesn’t seem to know half of it, or understand the repercussions. And yet.” 

“Yet?” 

“There is magic in the Fringe, Lord Nitram,” Garfit gave him a narrow-eyed look. “If one cares to look for it. There have always been whispers and stories, but nothing to be found. Nothing solid beyond superstition and cults worshiping the promise of release after death. Not until after the Imperial Lusus was slain, at any rate.” They snorted. “Now there is a _space whale_ currently stationed in one of my hangars, a tyrian child who can stop being a child at will, a crew of aliens from beyond the void belt that will graciously put up a display if you taunt them the right way, a troll-shaped creature most insistent he is no troll, and Eridan Ampora and his flickers of golden light. It makes sense, though if you don’t have the right thing to compare it to, you might not be able to see it.” 

“I see,” Tavros said, at length, and made no promises. 

  


* * *

  


“You have wings,” Sinann said, before Tavros could even introduce himself. He was slightly taken aback by the girl – now once more a girl barely tall enough to reach his knee – staring at him with wide, wide eyes. “You have _wings_ ,” she repeated, as if he hadn't heard her the first time. 

He'd forgotten the surprise they could cause, what with people either too polite or too used to them, to make remarks anymore. He did note, with a bit of trepidation, that there was no ghost of disdain in the girl's voice, only wonder and awe. Her grey eyes lit up with curiosity as she stepped closer, one hand outstretched. 

“Sinann,” Eridan said, sharply, and she shrank back instantly, looking chastised. “Don't be so goddamn rude, this ain't a fucking petting zoo.” 

“But,” the girl tried, weakly, “ _wings_.” 

“Wings attached to _his_ back, making them his,” Eridan snorted, walking closer with a slouch and an air of carelessness that Tavros found himself jealous of all of a sudden. “You can't go around fondling every goddamn mutant troll you meet. It's rude and I'm done arguing with people for your sake.” 

She stuck her tongue out petulantly and ran back to where Shaula was still waiting for her, melting mid step into an adult once more. Tavros took a moment to notice, blink, argue with himself and then settled on squinting somewhat. 

“C'mon,” Eridan said, sticking his hands into the depths of his pockets and giving Tavros a measuring look, “buy me lunch.” 

Tavros stared. 

“Why?” 

“Because you have the flabbergasted look of someone who's just been exposition'd to death about the gloriously fucked up mess we're currently in by Lord Imoogi, and is now looking for someone to explain it sensibly. Zahhak wore it better, if you ask me, but that might just be me being biased. Anyway, between Harlow and me, you want me, and I want lunch.” Eridan ended the tirade with a mighty shrug and a lopsided smirk. “Plus I don't actually have an allowance or an ID card since I'm technically dead anyway.” 

He began walking out the door, slouch and all. 

Bewildered, Tavros followed him. 

  


* * *

  


“Lord Sagara,” Levtan deadpanned, staring at said Lord's PA out of sheer stubborn self-preservation, “Cybele.” 

Tellus Cybele grinned a wide, convincing facsimile of a subjugglator grin, as Lord Murray Sagara made disgusting cooing noises at the very put upon seadweller that withstood the abuse as stoically as he could. 

“You've grown so much,” Murray said, tugging on Levtan's arm, which was the exact same length as it'd been, last time he'd seen it, perhaps half a sweep prior. The fact that Levtan had been two whole feet taller than him since the boy turned nine, was completely ignored by Murray. “I'm surprised you haven't run off to hide with Glydan, it's that time of the decade.” 

Levtan Ampora was many, many things. A douche. A moron. A fastidiously precise deadpan snarker with a chip on his shoulder and a vendetta against the world, just on principle. He was not, however, tactful. In fact, it was entirely possible that he and tact had never been within an astronomical unit of each other. Therefore, as he put up with the fussing and the mockery of concern that Murray had been piling on, on him since he could remember – Murray had already been there, when Levtan was brought aboard the _Deathfowl_ , and some days it seemed he was going to be there by the time it was all over and the world up and ended, which was apparently exactly what was happening, if one believed the crock of bullshit his Ancestor had fed Lord Imoogi – Levtan rolled his eyes, shrugged carelessly and said, in the most sullen voice he could muster: 

“Glydan is dead.” 

Murray deflated like a balloon, so hard Levtan almost laughed. He shrugged again, uncomfortable under the scrutiny as Murray was clearly expecting something a little bit more... detailed than that. 

“I don't know, Lord Imoogi won't talk about it,” the young Ampora said, shrugging yet again, awkward. Then he paused, stared at Murray, and added: “Criina is too. Though that one I do know more of, the Grand Highblood did her in, apparently. Like, along the entirety of the subjugglators. He's in a containment cell in Xar. Also the universe is ending and my Ancestor is here.” 

If Levtan had opened with that statement instead of closing his succint summary of the state of affairs aboard the _Deathfowl_ , Murray would have probably been too freaked out to properly go off the handle. As it was, Murray didn't register the rest of the sentence after gaining all the information he required. He turned on his heel and stomped away with a brisk, furious pace. 

Tellus frowned. 

“That your idea of a joke? Sending Ray on a murderous rampage?” 

Levtan deadeyed him for a moment. 

“I don't tell jokes,” he said, stiffly, “you need a sense of humor for that.” Then he paused. “You don't _actually_ think he's going to go and try to pick a fight with the Grand Highblood.” 

“Did the Grand Highblood actually kill Criina?” Tellus asked, frown deepening. 

Levtan shrugged, or at least he started to, before Tellus grabbed him by the shoulders and kept him still, because all that shrugging was bordering on homicide-inducing. 

“He bragged about it pretty loudly in Zahhak's face.” 

Tellus swore under his breath. 

“Then yes, Levtan, he is absolutely going to go and pick a fight with the Grand Highblood.” 

There was a small pause, as Levtan's pan actually rose from the perpetual, murky, non-thinking headspace he favored for work. He sobered up. 

“Well, shit.” 

  


* * *

  


“Don't take it out on Gamzee,” Eridan said, somewhere after his fourth dessert, ignoring the looks his clothes and his eye-patch were earning him from the other officers in the canteen. 

Tavros had realized this was a bad idea only after Eridan had already sit down, and at that point, he hadn't been sure if telling Eridan to maybe take his lunch elsewhere would be a wise idea. The _Deathfowl_ was a buzz with rumors and tall stories about Lord Imoogi's guests, after all. There was so much secrecy and red tape that people were trading on rumors as if they were a physical thing. And then, there was Eridan. There had been a time when Tavros was used to insulting highblood sensitivities merely by existing; he'd learned to... not like it, but at least use it to his advantage, after one too many bouts of panic and lectures from his mentors. But he'd never managed to quite perfect it into an artform, like Eridan was demonstrating. There was something about his posture and the way he carried himself that, Tavros noted, set the teeth of various highblood officials present on edge, almost on reflex. 

Then he registered the words, properly, and his expression closed off so fast it nearly made a sound. 

“Let's say I believe you,” Tavros said, frowning. “And, uh, no offence, but I'm still digesting everything you and Lord Imoogi told me. But let's say I believe you, for now.” His eyes narrowed a little, betraying some of the steel that had to grow behind them over the centuries, out of sheer necessity. “Explain why that'd somehow give you the idea that, at any point, I give the singlest, smallest fuck about your opinions regarding my quadrant grid. Use small words.” 

Eridan snorted contemptuously. Oddly, Tavros was damn near certain the contempt wasn't – necessarily – aimed at him. 

“Oh, I doubt you give one solitary shit about me or my opinions, Nitram,” Eridan flashed him a smirk full of needle-like teeth that felt more like a threatening snarl than anything else. “But since Gamzee's decidedly on my side, contractually forever, apparently, I feel like taking one for the team. It's a pretty shitty team we have, you see, one ought to make do with one has.” 

“That's not—” 

“How about you go and take one for the team right now?” Sollux's voice echoed through the speakers of the block, mid-song, and startled half the trolls in the block at once. 

Eridan squinted at the ceiling. 

“Someone's on a tighter fucks to give about anything budget than me, shit,” he snorted, and then tilted his head back to properly address the ceiling. “You used to be subtle.” 

Sollux, predictably, didn't answer. 

“What did he mean?” Tavros asked, frowning, because one couldn't make him lose track of a conversation that easily. Particularly when Gamzee was the topic at hand. When Eridan stood up, he squinted again and remained seated.“Exactly?” 

“Knowing your matesprit?” Eridan sighed. “Nothing good.” He arched an eyebrow, when Tavros stayed where he was, clearly expecting him to elaborate. “Are you coming or not?” 

Tavros let out a controlled breath. 

“I'm not sure I can't be, uh, in the same block as Gamzee, and not say something... unfortunate,” he said, fists clenched tightly over his thighs. 

“Your quadrantgrid, not mine,” Eridan replied, rolling his eye with flourish. “Still think you shouldn't take it out on him, but that's just me being disgustingly romantic.” 

He stalked out of the block without looking back, and half a minute later, when Tavros made up his mind to follow him in the end, he found that Eridan had vanished into thin air. 

  


* * *

  


“Technically,” Levtan said, pressing against the corridor's wall, “he's not murdered Murray yet.” 

“Technically,” Tellus repeated, snide, leaning on the wall himself, to keep his balance. 

The corridor was thick with fear that tasted like miasma under one's tongue. Inside the cell – door thrown wide open dramatically by Murray, they assumed – the Grand Highblood was casually holding down a feral, snarling seadweller on the floor with one hand, grin wide enough to be nightmare inducing. Murray, said feral, snarling seadweller, screeched and hissed and clawed at the tiles, his highblood rage further exacerbated by the fearmorgering Gamzee was pumping into the air almost like it was a physical thing. 

That was the scene that greeted Eridan when he stepped into the corridor, flecks of golden light still clinging to his arms. The _Deathfowl_ was huge and he could not be expected to address an emergency by walking the literal miles between the officers' canteen and the containment sector. He took a moment to survey the damage – his descendant and a tall, gangly purpleblood leaning on the wall and pretending really hard their pans weren't being pureed by sheer fear at the moment, and then Gamzee being... well, Gamzee – before he sighed a frustrated hiss of air between his fangs. 

“Makara,” he said, stepping into the cell with a careless, unruffled air that even Levtan was willing to admit was almost impressive. “Let the fucker go.” 

“Give a brother one motherfucking good reason why,” Gamzee snarled back, though, as Eridan had known, he dared not throw a single shade of fear his way. “And be remembering he be up and starting it.” 

“Be the fucking adult, then,” Eridan snapped, reaching a hand to shove at the arm attached to the hand currently holding Murray in place. “I'd figure what with the times, you'd be in the mood to be the one who ends fucking shit instead of escalating it.” 

There was a moment when Gamzee merely stared at him. Then he threw his head back and roared a thunderous laugh that made Eridan's teeth clatter on reflex. But he pulled back and let go of the seadweller currently all but vibrating with fury. Murray did the most reasonable thing, and lounged at Gamzee's throat, the moment he could move again. Eridan grabbed him by the ankle and unceremoniously threw him out of the cell like a ragdoll. He gave Gamzee a withering look as the fear lessened by degrees until it was completely gone. 

“I am so fucking sick and tired of excusing your fuckery to the victims, Makara,” he said, eye narrowed dangerously. “Grow a fucking pair and explain yourself, yeah? Sometime this fucking century?” 

Gamzee sat back, head tilted against the wall as he sneered. 

“Unlike you,” he replied, smug, “I don't offer promises I don't know I can keep.” 

“Go fuck yourself on your goddamn clubs,” Eridan replied back, tonelessly, and stalked out of the cell without looking back, because if he turned and saw Gamzee cackling like he sounded he was, he was going to do something rash and unfortunate. “Asshole.” 

Outside, Tellus was holding onto Murray, who was still snarling and hissing and making quite the understandable fuss. Eridan sympathized, really, he did. But he was so sick and tired of people making a fuss that he just reached out and flicked his claws, hard, on one of Murray's horns. 

“Shut up,” he ordered, irritably, “and you,” he told Tellus, without really looking at him, “keep him out of here. I'm not making it a habit to play rescue for any moron that picks a fight with the Grand Highblood.” When no one said anything in reply, Eridan rubbed over the eye-patch with the heel of his hand. “The fucking _Grand Highblood_ , Murray, what the fuck happened with shitting yourself in my presence? Who the fuck allowed you to grow a goddamn spine?” 

Murray stared, dazed. 

“...Eridan?” 

  


* * *

  


Levtan placed the parchment down with slightly more force than was strictly required. He had enough sense not to just slam it into the table, if only because then it'd probably just fall apart and then Lord Imoogi would yell at him for it. But deep down he wanted to. He seethed with aimless anger as he set out his supplies and began to draw haltingly complex swirls of violet across the new copy, eyes unfocused and pan boiling with rage. 

It wasn't _fair_. 

It wasn't fair, that every bit of his life he'd salvaged and made his own, fighting fang and claw against the oppressive weight of Lord Imoogi's expectations, was slowly being co-opted by his goddamn Ancestor. It seemed like everything he'd ever called his own was doomed to be revealed as an ugly hand-me-down, passed onto him without context or a warning. His friends had been his Ancestor's friends, first. His Lord had been his Ancestor's Lord, first. Every tiny scrap of individuality he'd managed to secure. It stung to see it turn into something ugly and awkward, when compared to the original. 

He'd never been fond of the mythos he'd been forced to endure, all his life. The looks and the whispers and the nagging and all the shit that came with being Eridan Ampora's descendant. But he'd fought off the worst of it, or so he'd thought, managing to build a life of his own, in whatever little corners left to himself, outside the crushing shadow of his Ancestor's deeds. 

Except, no, not really. Everything was tainted, somehow. Everything was connected and all roads led back to the smug, disheveled asshole that didn't even seem to notice, or care. And Levtan thought it was woefully unfair, that he was saddled with a legacy he never wanted, from a man he never knew, and now those last remnants of himself were being washed away by the sheer tide of presence that his Ancestor had, despite it all. 

He wrote angryly, brush flowing with practiced ease, as he sank himself into a stupor of angry musings and dark thoughts. 

“You missed a glottal stop.” 

Levtan swore under his breath as he startled and traced a line across the entire page, ruining it. He looked up to snarl his fury, and found Equius Zahhak staring down at him with that insufferable blank expression of his. 

“I am not having a nice shift,” Levtan hissed, fins flaring and eyes all but glowing with contempt, “so kindly take your fucking advice and shove it somewhere unmentionable, Lord Zahhak.” 

“Were you harmed?” Equius said, rather than raising to the bait, since he knew better than to engage Levtan's rudeness when he was in one of his moods. When the boy did nothing more than stare at him, Equius sighed slowly. “I heard about the... commotion, down in the containment cells. Were you harmed?” 

“Of course I wasn't,” Levtan snarled, viciously tearing up the ruined paper and going through the motions of setting up a new one. “His amazingness Eridan Ampora was there to make sure nothing happened. It's his thing, right? Being perfect and fixing every single solitary mess he might encounter.” He let out a sharp sigh. “Jackass.” 

Equius breathed slowly, considering his words carefully. He always treaded softly, where Levtan was concerned. He'd said nothing, when Lord Imoogi had appeared, one night, and rather than bring another child to raise and teach all there was to know about being a Dragon, he brought the ghost of all that Equius had lost and never knew how to properly mourn. He was fond of the boy, finding a sick sense of nostalgia in all those horrible things he'd spent eternity berating his Ancestor for. And he'd made sure to stay far, far away from anything that could threaten to tear open old wounds. He was not, after all, Equius' ward. Equius had no claim to him and no real understanding of how to relate to him, without the ghost of Eridan staring down at him every moment. 

He knew Levtan was not Eridan, would never be Eridan, and to hold the boy accountable for everything Eridan had done and later been saddled with was unfair. It was awkward, but he'd managed to work something out. Something that almost worked, most days, and allowed him to admit to liking and caring for the boy, without necessarily projecting all his unresolved feelings about his Ancestor onto him. But it was delicate, and Equius had never been very good at delicate, forever too rough or too clumsy to not destroy everything he touched. 

“You are grossly misinformed,” he said, at long last, allowing himself a thin smile at the thought, “if that's the impression you've been given of just who your Ancestor is.” 

Levtan bristled. 

“Don't fucking patronize me just because you like the jerk,” he snapped, feeling a childish urge to throw the ink bottle at Equius' head. “ _Everyone_ likes the jerk.” 

“I don't,” Equius said, sincerely, since he very well didn't. Levtan snorted dismissively. “I honestly never liked him.” 

“Oh really?” Levtan gave him a skeptical look. “Why? Are you allergic to sparkly perfection in all things?” 

Equius took a deep breath. 

“Because he was my kismesis,” he said, carefully not looking at Levtan in the eye, “one is not meant to _like_ one's kismesis, after all. There would be little point, otherwise.” 

Levtan stared. 

And then gagged. 

“Oh god, oh _god_ , why,” he whined, shuddering violently. “Why did you feel the need to share that? I don't know what's worse, that now I know for certain you screwed him at some point, or that he looks like me and you felt like telling me this, _why_.” 

Equius stared at him for a moment and cracked the smallest of all smiles. 

“Because now you're entirely too focused on being angry at me,” he said, one eyebrow arched, “so you stand something of a chance of reaching out to him.” 

“Joke's on you,” Levtan snorted, scowling darkly, “he's catching up with Ray and Tel, and I'm not going to be the motherfucking idiot who sticks his nose into that fucking clusterfuck waiting to happen.” He sniffed disdainfully. “Now kindly fuck off, Lord Zahhak, some of us have actual jobs to do.” 

Smile long gone, Equius left. 

  


* * *

  


The girl looked like she was figuring out her words, thinking hard about it as she fidgeted by the door of the office he'd been given. Tavros watched her carefully, unable to deny the horns and the features of her face were the same, only smaller and softer and less threatening. She looked, for all intents and purposes, like a child, eyes grey still, but he'd seen her grown, tall and lean and strong, eyes full of tyrian that couldn't mean anything other than trouble for everyone. At length, she seemed to have figured what to say, because she cleared her throat and stepped into the room slowly, looking at him cautiously. 

“May I look at your wings?” She asked, holding her hands in front of her and making herself look at his face, rather than, well, his wings. “Please?” She ducked her head, shyly, “they're very pretty.” 

He stood up slowly, unfolding them behind him as he approached her. She didn't flinch back, instead staring with wide, wide eyes. Tavros was a consummated diplomat. He was not naive or all that innocent anymore, but even he had a hard time reminding himself of all the potential disaster this one little girl could bring, simply by existing. 

“Why do you have wings?” She asked, after a moment, and he realized she was holding her hands so as to resist temptation to touch. The thought made Tavros smile a little. “Aren't you a troll, too?” 

“Some trolls grow wings,” he said, after a moment, “very few of them, uh, but that doesn't mean we're not trolls.” His eyes hardened a little. “A long time ago, there were more, but one Empress or another had all winged trolls culled. It's an extremely rare mutation, these days.” 

“Maybe the Empress was jealous,” Sinann replied simply, looking sad. “Maybe she thought that if she couldn't have them, no one should, so no one would be jealous like her.” 

“It wasn't the Empress' call to make,” he replied, and waited for her reaction to it, measuring. 

“But she made it any way,” she sighed, sad, “being Empress sounds like it's very hard, not knowing what calls to make and whether any of them are right at all. Though neither Eridan nor Harlow can agree on that.” 

“And you?” 

She blinked up at him. 

“Me?” 

“What's your stand on being an Empress?” He asked, because that was the crux of it, really, and what Lord Imoogi kept sidestepping neatly with all their riddles. 

She was a child of Imperial blood, she had a right to challenge the reigning Empress for her title, and Tavros wasn't sure, after all the magic and the doom-prophesying, that Feferi was in any shape to win that battle. Or that she'd want to fight it, really. Sinann was a troll-shaped disaster that could destabilize the Empire and send it spiraling into chaos, simply by existing, and while Lord Imoogi had been very careful to keep her hidden so far, the truth was that unless she _died_ , she was a complication that wasn't going away any time soon. That she was embroiled in the ridiculously complicated mess she was, heralding the very literal end of all things, was purely coincidental at that point. Tavros watched her expression change, as she processed the question. Her reply was not what he'd been expecting. 

Sinann's smile was serene, but suddenly it was Tavros who felt very, very old and very, very sad. 

“Even if everything weren't ending, I'll never be an Empress.” 

  


* * *

  


“So how did you end up here?” Eridan asked, giving Tellus a considering look. “I mean, pretty damn obvious how Murray ended up here, what with Zahhak hiding behind Lord Imoogi's skirts.” 

The purpleblood choked on his drink at the remark. While he was no stranger to thoughts like such, he'd never encountered anyone with enough lack of self preservation or backed by a power great enough to allow those thoughts to be spoken out loud. He found Eridan interesting, though, if only because he was very much not what he'd grown up knowing, and Tellus was a sucker for a source of chaos like him. 

He sighed. 

“He saved my life, a long time ago,” he replied, reminiscing on the whole thing with a small smile on his face. “I believe in chaos and the way the unpredictable will always find a way to break through and make things change.” He gave Eridan a poignant look. “Ray makes everything change, he's the closest thing to chaos incarnate I've ever met.” 

“I'd believe it,” Eridan snorted, shaking his head. “Then again, I met him when he wasn't a Lord. He was tiny and flaily and panicky, and it was just goddamn hysterical to watch him lose his shit over everything. He was very much not what a proper seadweller should be, so Art and I, we ended up adopting him into our unfit seadwellers that somehow haven't been culled yet club. Bit of a mascot more than a member, those first few sweeps, but it was fun.” 

Tellus nodded, and smiled wryly. 

“And then you died.” 

Eridan sighed a chuckle. 

“And then I died.” 

In the background, Murray, who'd long passed out from both exhaustion and the sheer nautical quantities of alcohol Eridan had all but force-fed him at that point, snored loudly. 

“What was it like?” Tellus asked, after a moment, voice hushed with something Eridan took a moment to realize was awe, “killing the Enslaver?” 

The seadweller laughed bitterly, and leaned forward to press his face into his hands. _Oh, Fef_ , he thought, again, and wondered what exactly had been done with his name, once it ceased being his to defend it. Levtan had mentioned something like that, before, and Eridan had dismissed it offhandedly. But there it was, taunting him with dread. And honestly, he might as well figure it out now, than later. He hadn't expected to need much catching up, really, one their journey through doomed worlds ended, but he kept forgetting, what with Equius and Garfit and now Tavros and Murray, he'd been gone a whole fucking millennium. He had no idea what had changed, during that time, and while he was forcing himself to not care about it and give priority to his mission, he couldn't say he wasn't curious. Tellus was just a convenient source of information, in that regard, someone he had no real investment in and who could actually answer his questions without fucking up anything too terribly. 

Tellus didn't matter, and Eridan was so keenly jealous of him because of it, that he couldn't help but like the smirking bastard a little. 

“Not like you'd expect,” Eridan replied, a little cryptically, and offered a lopsided smirk. “Levtan said something earlier, but I wasn't expecting it to be true. Is it common knowledge now? I was kinda dead for a while there, you see, I'm not quite up to date.” 

For a moment, Tellus just stared at him. And then his eyes gleamed with childish glee and he looked heartbreakingly young compared to the endless eternity Eridan was hiding in his bones. 

“Of course it's common knowledge,” he said, unable to keep all the excitement off his voice, “you're a national hero. The monument all trolls measure themselves up to, these days. There's... fuck, there's so many movies and books and just an unending stream of propaganda with your name on it.” 

“Movies,” Eridan echoed, looking like he was going to be ill, “and books.” 

Tellus nodded. 

“Hell, _In which a seadweller hero battles the forces of evil that have oppressed trollkind since its creation_ it's on it's centennial rerun in the Fringe, right now–“ 

Eridan buried his face into his hands, trying to smother his own hysterical laughter as he did. 

“That sounds absolutely terrible,” he wheezed, looking at Tellus between his fingers, “and like something I need to see to believe.” 

Tellus grinned. On the floor, Murray went on snoring. 

  


* * *

  


Tavros entered the room in time to see Shaula Serket throw her tea on Garfit Imoogi's face. 

“Fuck you,” she snarled, eyes ablaze with fury as she stood up abruptly enough to send her chair clattering onto the floor, “fuck you, you pompous _shithead_ , say that again, _I fucking dare you!”_

Lord Imoogi arched one eyebrow, and vaporized said tea off their clothes with their psionics. The entirety of the ship shook with pressure that made Tavros' bones creak. Tavros had never seen them lose their patience, but then, he was pretty sure no one that did survived the encounter. Shaula was still panting angryly, seemingly uncaring of the situation. Or just ignorant of what she was unleashing, Tavros was not sure, but he didn't know if he should stay and try to stop Garfit from exploding her head like a grape, or take the sensible option and just running out without looking back. 

“I'm sure you _will_ apologize for that,” Garfit said, voice silky smooth, “but just in case, I'll remind you-” 

“Shut up,” Shaula snarled, and almost burst out laughing at the uncomprehending look on Garfit's face. They looked like no one had ever dared interrupt them before. Which was probably the case, really, but Shaula was too angry to care. “You've never been a slave, Imoogi, you don't know the meaning of choice. You're just a pompous dickhead sitting on your stupid gilded throne, talking about the greater good and noble sacrifice. Noble sacrifice is _bullshit_. The greater good is fucking worthless. People have lives, and if they lay them down for something, it should be their goddamn choice. You will not use me to murder trolls willy nilly just because you're too fucking scared of letting them choose for themselves. The _Anansi_ is not manned by slaves and it sure as fuck isn't gonna be powered by them.” She leaned on the desk, eyes burning gold as a circle of light spread beneath her. “You can't kill me. You know that as damn well as I do. You need me. And for now, I need you too. But if you ever suggest that again, I'm going to take my goddamn time dealing with you. You're not the first tyrant I meet, Lord Imoogi, and you'd damn well not be the last one I dethrone in this life.” She took a moment to glare at them, tilting her chin up arrogantly, before turning around on her heel. _“Good day, sir.”_

She stalked to the door, stopping only to glare at Tavros until he stepped out of the way. For a moment, no one said anything, and then laughter erupted from behind Lord Imoogi's desk. Lord Imoogi looked down at their side and Tavros finally noticed the troll slumped between the wall and the desk, currently cackling for all he was worth. 

“Goddamn, but I like that girl,” Harlow said, ignoring the venom behind Garfit's glare. “You like her too, she wouldn't be alive right now, if you didn't.” 

“That is inconsequential,” Garfit snarled, eyes narrowed, “as is your mocking.” They turned to look at Tavros, and demanded: “Is there anything you need, Lord Nitram?” 

“What was that about?” Tavros asked instead, feeling daring, eyebrows arched questioningly. 

To their surprise, Garfit sat back on their chair, instead of chastising him for his manners. They looked very, very tired, and Tavros remembered, all of a sudden, how old they truly were. 

“I believe I mentioned a space whale currently stationed in one of my hangars, before,” Garfit said, valiantly ignoring Harlow's slowly winding down laughter. “It belongs to Serket.” They made a show of rolling their eyes, as if to imply how obviously the space whale couldn't possibly belong to anyone else. Tavros remained quiet. “It runs on people. I'm sure she would explain it in a much more complicated way, and if you'd like, I encourage you to ask her, but the end result is that it runs on people. Amusingly, while commanding such a vessel, Shaula Serket feels it is immoral to allow people on board and... refuel, as it were, without informing them of this fact.” They looked at Tavros in the eye, all but challenging him to agree with her. They needn't have worried, Tavros was a little too shocked at the realization that he did, in fact, agree with her, to voice his thoughts just yet. Garfit sighed irritably. “Shaula Serket is a child who knows how to posture and lecture about morals, but in the end she lacks the perspective and understanding that the well-being and safety of the many is important enough to warrant the sacrifice of a few. It is fortunate that Shaula Serket has no bearing on the inner workings of the Empire, is it not?” 

“I understand,” Tavros replied, because he understood the threat, even if he wasn't quite certain he understood anything else, and then bowed and excused himself, because clearly this was not the best time. 

“It must be killing you,” Harlow said after a moment, looking up at Garfit with a smirk, “to know your precious Empire could amount to nothing, if Shaula Serket was focused on an entirely different set of morals to expound upon.” 

“Were you always this unpalatable, my dear, or do I just bring about that side of you?” Garfit snarled politely, eyes flashing with annoyance. 

Harlow shrugged. 

“At this point, I can't even tell.” 

  


* * *

  


After three hours of bickering, Sollux convinced Terezi to fold and Nepeta set course for the last known location of the _Deathfowl_. It was a slow flight, because the ship had clearly seen better days, but on the whole it was fairly uneventful. Terezi was frustrated by their lack of leads and Nepeta was not really the kind of person who started a fight just to pass the time, so she let Terezi stew on her feelings while she focused on flying them to their destination. 

Then the green, winged monstrosity appeared, and things got a lot less boring a lot quicker. 

  


* * *

  


“We don't have time to _explain_ everything!” Sollux snapped, voice amplified and given echo by the dozens of speakers in the hangar. “My moirail is out there and you're fussing about–“ 

“That's your problem,” Shaula snarled back, folding her arms over her chest. “Not mine. I was very fucking clear about this, Captor, and it ain't fucking negotiable. The _Anansi_ is not manned by slaves, and it's not powered on them, either.” She gave Garfit a contemptuous look. “You have a FTL drive aboard this thing, why don't you use that? Hell, we'll offer intimidation support and drive the fucker away for you when we get there.” 

“The sheer energy expense–“ 

“As opposed to life expense?” Shaula snarled at Garfit, all but vibrating in contempt. 

“Sha,” Eridan began, but then shut up right away at the look of unmitigated disdain that she gave him. 

“This is my ship,” she said, standing up straight and glaring at everyone present, except her crew, who'd deemed fit to stand behind her and avoid her wrath entirely. “These are my fucking rules. _Deal with it_.” 

“While this debate on the ethical handling of fuel is very interesting and all,” Harlow said, before Garfit could let loose all the vitriol gathered under their tongue, “we have two Pillars in jeopardy that I for one will not see dead over your nonsense. You,” he glared at Garfit, “are being an absolute asshat just because you can and because you've actually forgotten how to treat someone you don't have rank over. And you,” he continued, fixing his eyes on Shaula, “are being a self righteous hypocrite to hide the fact you hate being ordered around and dressing up your irrational tantrum as a moral issue. This is not the time to argue morals, grey and otherwise. The _Anansi_ is the only ship available that could get there and save the Pillars in time. If it's power you need, and you absolutely refuse to take Imoogi's gracious offer of it, then I'll give you what you need.” 

“Harlow,” Eridan said, warningly, taking a step forward and stopping when Shaula raised her hand. 

“What power?” She demanded, cautious, because Harlow was a messy death waiting to happen, and she damn well knew it by that point. 

He smiled. 

“Mine.” 

“Sha,” Eridan insisted, “no. Take the trolls. Hell, take _me_ , I can take it.” 

The _Anansi_ crew made soft, questioning noises, not quite complaining. They never argued against Shaula's wishes, because she'd promised to look after them and she'd never broken that promise. But their loyalty to her was also to her well-being, and the current situation was uncomfortable for everyone involved. 

“Will it hurt my crew?” Shaula asked Harlow, completely ignoring Eridan's pleas. 

“Oh don’t you worry, my dear,” Harlow said, hands holding Shaula’s face almost tenderly, “ _I_ won’t be the one hurting your precious crew.” 

“ _Don't do this_ ,” Eridan pleaded, one last time, even as Shaula closed her eyes and nodded. “You don't know what he _is_.” 

“Good girl,” Harlow crooned, and leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, as he melted into shapeless, rolling darkness that drifted into her, leaking into her pores and her mouth and her eyes, and she let out a shrill scream as she realized for the first time exactly what he was. 

“Captain!” Someone yelled, Camila or Sydney, Eridan couldn't tell, and all hell broke lose as Shaula spiraled into grimdarkness all at once. 

The _Anansi_ echoed the shriek with one of its own, as its skin turned the same sickly black that Shaula's was, and its body bent and twisted into an oozing nightmare of scales and glittering darkness. Shaula shrieked and shrieked and then vanished from view, retreating back into the _Anansi_ with just a thought. She felt powerful and purposeful, feeling reality burn at the edges of her being, ready to combust if only she commanded it. 

“Fuck,” Eridan said quietly, staring at the monstrous figure that the _Anansi_ had become, and vanished into thin air just a second before the whale shot out towards the nearest wall. 

He found himself inside the bridge and realized the insides of the whale were equally warped as its outside. Shaula sat in the center of the block, in what had been her chair once, staring straight ahead as every bit of flesh – it looked like flesh now, rather than the technological bridge Eridan was used to – pulsed with borrowed power that continued to escalate, seemingly without end. 

The _Anansi_ vanished, before it could hit the wall, warping out of the _Deathfowl_ and then out towards its target in a heartbeat, leaving behind its frantic crew and the dumbstruck trolls that witnessed the whole thing. 

  


* * *

  


“Well?” 

Gamzee looked up to find Equius standing at the doorway, face a carefuly constructed mask of utter emotionless blankness that he didn't buy for a moment. He was surprised, to be honest, that the man hadn't stormed into the cell earlier, but also that he'd managed to work the nerve to be there at all. Gamzee sat up properly, back against the wall of his cramped cell, and squinted at him. 

“A brother up and has a question boiling in his guts, I reckon,” he said, taunting, and waited for Equius' reaction. “He won't be getting an answer, unless he stops being a pissy coward bitch and owns up to it.” 

“Are you even sorry for what you've done?” Equius managed after three false starts and the feeling of sand gathering under his tongue. 

Gamzee snorted. 

“I committed,” he replied, sneering in the face of Equius' fury flushed face. “I don't up and _get_ to motherfucking regret, Zahhak. Do you know why?” He leaned in, rolling onto his knees into a crouch that was oddly threatening, given how the posture would have been defensive on anyone else. Then again, this was Gamzee, after all. “Because what's done is mother. Fucking. Done. It didn't need to be nice. It didn't need to be kind. It just needed to be _done_.” He smirked. “You'll commit too, in time. Or you'll die, and it'll be all for nothing.” 

  


* * *

  


The _Anansi_ tore through space, a mass of dark, screaming madness that left reality torn and recoiling in its path. It came to a stop between the Cherub and the battered up courier ship, shielding it with its bulk as it took the brunt of an attack without flinching. In the bridge, half of Shaula's body burst open, bleeding more of that oozing darkness before the wounds closed up on their own. Eridan turned away from the sight and teleported into the courier ship, because he realized the sooner he picked up Terezi and Nepeta, the sooner they could head back and it would all _stop_. 

Nepeta lounged at his face, the moment he appeared, and only a quick flashstep to the side saved him from having his head entirely chopped off with one swipe of her claws. 

“Sweet fucking shit,” he snapped, raising his hands in defeat. “I'm the goddamn rescue party, dammit!” 

The ship shook as the fight outside escalated, without Nepeta holding it steady, and threw all three of them off their feet. 

“Look,” he said, before Nepeta could articulate the string of profanity building up behind her teeth, “I know it's weird. _I know_. But let's get out of here first, and then we can play twenty questions and scream about all that fucking needs screaming.” 

“You're supposed to be dead,” Nepeta accused darkly, not moving from where she'd rolled onto the floor, staring at him with calculating eyes. 

“Evidently,” Terezi retorted, before Eridan could, “he is not. And we were just discussing how very much we'd also rather _not_ be.” 

Eridan offered a hand to each. 

“Let's just... go,” he said, a little lamely, feeling the place where his eye used to be pulse with strain, as golden light gathered at his feet. “Please.” 

“You suck at daring rescues, Mr. Sourgrapes,” Terezi commented, voice oddly soft as she reached out to grasp Eridan's hand tightly on her own. “We'll need to work on your delivery.” 

Eridan laughed shakily and waited for Nepeta to make up her mind. 

“Let's go,” she said finally, her own grasp tight around Eridan's fingers. “It's pawful in here.” 

Eridan hiccuped another laugh and dragged them with him in a flash of golden light back to the _Deathfowl_. 

Outside, the _Anansi_ roared silently into the blackness of the stars and seemed to swell with power as the Cherub's own dwindled. 

  


* * *

  


Hours later, Eridan found himself sitting on the floor of the empty hangar that Lord Imoogi had assigned their ship for the duration of their stay aboard the _Deathfowl_ , along with the rest of the _Anansi_ crew, waiting. Lord Imoogi could deal with Nepeta and Terezi and bring them up to speed. Or not. He didn't care. None of them did. All they wanted was their Captain back, and as the minutes melted into hours, the dread began building up momentum. 

When the _Anansi_ finally warped back into the hangar, a nightmare of darkness and madness that made reality fizzle at the edges of its being, they stood up and waited, staring up at the monstrous shape of the whale with baited breath. And then Shaula was standing there, from one moment to the next, skin a shiny black and a dark glow that echoed the nothingness of the void licking her hair. The darkness pulsed, purring in content, before it raised and left her all at once. Her eyes became orange and blue once more, and she was again nothing more than a troll. 

She fell into the waiting arms easily, melting into the crowd of aliens and trolls that fussed as her eyes filled with tears and a sob tore itself through her throat. 

“Is it dead?” Ed asked, refusing to partake in the mess of limbs and distressed noises that the crew had been reduced to, instead staring challengingly at the darkness that very slowly rolled back into the familiar shape of Harlow. “The Cherub.” 

“Of course not,” Harlow, who'd so very clearly demonstrated was not a troll, smiled. “She'd be in my debt, then,” he explained, staring down at the girl his power had so thoroughly broken, it would take a long time to put everything back where it was meant to be, if the pieces even fit anymore. “And she understands, now, how very bad that would be.” 

“You will not do that again,” Eridan snarled, clutching Shaula's shoulders as she heaved a shuddering breath, trying and failing to contain her tears. “I don't fucking care what's at stake, you will not do that again. Ever.” 

“You do not command me,” Harlow replied snottily, chin tilted back arrogantly. “I gave her exactly what she asked for, after all, a _choice_.” 

“A choice is not a choice,” Eridan found himself snarling, realizing mid sentence who exactly he was quoting, “if you don't understand the consequences of that choice.” 

“ _You'd_ know that,” Harlow taunted, vanishing and leaving only the echo of his words behind, “wouldn't you?” 

An eternity later, Eridan thought angrily, as Shaula's sobbing quieted down under Sydney's shushing and Camila's papping, and Aradia Megido was still guiding him along every step. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote at the beginning by J. R. R. Tolkien.

**Author's Note:**

> [Askblog for this verse.](http://theroadtripfromhell.tumblr.com/)


End file.
